Tis the Season
by pennytree
Summary: It's that time of the year: food, family, friends, festivities-and fights. Visiting home for the holidays is never simple, not when the Parkers and Bennetts are involved. A/U: all human. Bonnie, Kai, Liv, Luke, Jo, and Grams.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer and A/N:  
** Characters with familiar names aren't mine; plot is but it's worth zilch. :)

Hi everyone. In the spirit of giving, wanted to share this holiday Bonkai fic, which'll be short multi-chapter. It was supposed to be part of 'In Kaleidoscope' but it grew too long. A few of you might guess which world the Bonkai here belongs to. I took the liberty of changing the names a little, hope it's not too jarring. Enjoy.

 _ **'TIS THE SEASON**_

 **Chapter I**

Sometimes I really hate my relatives. Enough that every once in a while, I imagine getting a call. I'm at the office, catching up on shit paperwork the junior associates get saddled with, and the voice on the other line is gravely, old, tired, the result of too many long years sitting in his late-model squad car overloading on stale donuts and cheap coffee.

He's saying, "You Malachai Parker?"

And I reply, "Yes?" in my best 'I'm a lawyer now and barely have the time to take your call' tone.

"I'm afraid I have bad news. Your entire family was just in a terrible accident."

"No," I gasp.

"Yes. Runaway yacht."

"I'm-what? Officer, we're not a boating family. We're more...mountain climbers and hikers."

"It was on the highway, son. Truck was towing it. Not enough chains. Afraid all that's left of your folks are scattered parts."

And of course, in my fantasy, I'm sad, right? Sure. I'm not completely heartless. For one, that's a lot of grim clean-up work for some poor souls at the start of winter season in Oregon. Snow and blood and body bits? No, thanks. And two, I wouldn't want to be the funeral director in charge of arranging the wake for a dismembered family of nine.

Usually, my daydreams never go that far. I never make it to the funeral. Maybe I don't have enough motivation. Because sometimes, I don't mind having seven siblings. On occasion, I can even stomach my old man, even though he's conservative as fuck and hates any advancements in the modern world since, oh, 1994.

"Oh, would you look at that? Mal, you're standing under the mistletoe!"

But my mom? Oh, yeah. For example, right just then, I could see her getting electrocuted by the excessively lit, fifteen foot overdone Fraser tree she put up the week before. Suffocated by their sprightly branches. I'd stand over her coffin, trying to convince the sea of black mourners behind me that my tears were all for sadness, and not joy.

"Maddie," I could hear my dad grumbling. "You don't have to be so loud."

What's this? My dad, actually trying to stick for me?

"Nonsense. I'm practically whispering."

The gleeful, tipsy voice is behind me, carrying clear and cutting through a dozen conversations in the house. I'm reminded not only how much I hate family gatherings, but how I dislike the holiday ones in particular. Nothing more tedious than everyone catching up that one time during the year when everything's bright red or bright green and tinkly and people are full of ideas on how to brag about their latest promotion and the new car they bought at a steal from the local dealership. Or conversely, brimming with sob stories about how they got their toe amputated and lost half their investment in a timeshare in Florida.

"You're not," I say, tipping back the glass of wine in my hand. I stare at the tall ceilings sporting wooden beams, envisioning one falling loose and hitting my mother on the head. "Not even a little. Why do you even have mistletoe? You're a month early for that, mom."

"Spoken like a grouch. It's never too early for romance."

"Where's the romance in tiny plastic sprigs?"

"Now, Mal," my dad cuts in appeasingly, while mom starts foaming at the mouth. "You know your mother only uses the real stuff."

"The idea," she grumbles. "Of having spontaneous displays of affection between two people influenced by something fake and manufactured, polluting our landfills and our own hearts..."

Yes. My mother, certifiable. Maybe the beam could fall on me instead. Why not? Quicker way to end the evening. Drinking myself into a stupor didn't hold any promise since I didn't relish the thought of spending the night at my parents. At least if I got hurt, traumatic brain injury might let me escape by way of an ambulance.

"Where's your date?" my mom asks with her hazy smile in place.

I shove one hand in pocket, waving my glass around. "Didn't bring one, mom. Never do anymore."

Not since that one holiday party she hosted where I brought my college girlfriend home to meet everyone and dear mother decided the best way to get to know her was by outlining all the various mental and musculoskeletal illnesses that my grandparents, a few aunts, uncles, and the stray distant cousins had succumbed to. Didn't help that my girlfriend at the time was a hypochondriac. I finally figured out that she liked me mostly because I never ever got sick and kept up my hygiene pretty well, unlike most of my fraternity brothers.

"Shame," my mother says, but her murmur is distracted, and I see her eyes losing some of that fuzziness as she looks around. Then she's shrugging, and leaning up to give me a peck on the cheek as she points to the mistletoe above our heads.

Luckily, I don't really embarrass easy but my dad, again to my shock, shrugs in apology at me before he mumbles something about more pigs-in-a-blanket and beer.

He ambles off, I swig some more wine, and my mom disappears, but not before she pats my shoulder with that happy face she gets the few times I do something that really pleases her.

"So glad you're wearing it!" she says, looking down at my bright red turkey sweater. The one that my twin sister Joss made for me, a few months back when she was in her last trimester of pregnancy and on a knitting kick. She'd made one for every member of the family and bullied all of us into wearing her creations for Thanksgiving this year.

Her husband was the only hold out-good man, but dumb. I see him hiding out in the kitchen, wearing a plain but neat button down and sending Joss nervous looks every once in a while. Whatever she's got planned for payback, it won't be pretty.

I'd entertained taking a stand like my brother-in-law, but in the end, it wasn't Joss's threats that made me throw in the towel.

"Yeah," I say now, cool and aloof as I try to follow my mother's gaze around the room. "Figured it's my best protection."

My mom blinks. "Against what?"

Sure, as if it wasn't obvious.

She's skipping her eyes everywhere again, and I try to anticipate who she's trying to throw at me now. They land on a willowy brunette in the corner of the room, surrounded by equally attractive girls. All of them sipping away from their stems and smiling like they're nice, normal, classy. I can't see myself with any of them, although the brunette's eyeing me back now, her eyes sparkly and hair glossy but without any of that polished edge like she's the high maintenance type. Not a fan of those.

My interest perks for a second, especially when I notice my mom's attention lingering on the woman, just before she looks away quickly. Nice try.

So damn obvious. Here it was, yet another Parker holiday gathering with most of my parents' closest friends in attendance, along with said friends' families, and I couldn't remember a time in the last ten years where my mother failed to produce some magical specimen of female to convince me that, hey, grass is greener on the other side. The side that meant I'd have to shed my independence and manhood and attach myself at the hip to a woman already gold-stamped with the Madeline Parker seal of approval.

Across the room, mystery brunette tips her wine glass to me, looking coy and naughty both, and my indignation wanes inversely to the level of intrigue.

All right, so maybe I could play along for a little while.

And maybe I should've joined the ranks of Joss's husband, and skipped the ugly sweater.

-x-O-x-

I'm at the appetizer table debating between chicken liver pates and mini potato pancakes when I figure, why not both? And then, hey, throw in a cheese straw while I'm at it. The table that Maddie Parker's set up is enormous, every inch of it covered with platters that are worth me channeling an anteater for.

It's not like I'm here to impress anyone, anyway.

Grams shows up, hovering at my elbow, and I can feel the judgment rolling off her in waves.

"Bonnie Sheila Bennett," she says in that familiar disapproving tone. "We're here to mingle, not gorge."

I ponder that, and in all seriousness when I look at my plate, it's pretty obvious that my grandmother's statement is just not true. She looks pointedly at my hips and I do what I always do best, ignore her. Instead of answering, I just stuff a mini potato pancake in my mouth and chew thoughtfully.

"Hey, isn't that Lu?" I ask after a few seconds of her sniffing like she's offended.

The blond man ambles up the next second, easy grin in place as he winks at me. I'm relieved to see a friendly face, especially since I just bumped into his twin minutes ago and all Livvie could do was stare at me blankly, as if she had no recollection of years' worth of summers spent roaming Portland together. Then when Grams had tried to jog her memory, the most we'd gotten back was a bored, "Oh, right, didn't recognize you without the malnourished look."

Bitch.

"Glad you could make it," Lu said, leaning in for a hug, spending just a little too long at it and earning a stink eye from me in the process.

Grams, meanwhile, beams at us.

"Seen my mom yet?" he asks, sticking so close to my side that I wonder if he's trying to steal my plate.

Grams subtly moves us away from the table by steering my elbow like I'm still in grade school and in need of supervising. Lu follows us and out of the corner of my eye, catch sight of a slim man, carrot-topped, dressed in jeans and plaid and watching us like a hawk.

We fall into small talk just like other little groups all around us. Mingling, just like Grams wanted. A Maddie and Josh Parker gathering isn't one unless there's holiday music in the background, and their speakers are keeping at it steady, not even interrupted by ads since they've apparently embraced Pandora in full. I like it. It's never really the holidays until I've heard a few notes of 'Frosty' in the air.

Every once in a while, though, someone random cringes at a couple notes that ring out high and clear. Grinches. Admittedly, it's been years since I've come along with Grams to this annual holiday tradition, so I might be nostalgic.

Plus, who doesn't like a little holiday spirit?

I'm enjoying myself, exactly like I'd imagined when I first agreed to come out. Oregon wasn't my first choice to spend the season, but I knew from the letters and a couple Skype sessions that my grandmother was lonely. Over in Mystic Falls, my Dad was set to be cooped up in his office working through the holidays yet again. Meanwhile, it's not like I had an army of relatives in Brooklyn to visit.

What sealed the deal was the run-in with Lu.

Back at home, as I'd sat in my favorite bakery drinking my cafe con leche before hopping on the train that would take me to work, my ex-roommate had stumbled in, clearly looking for me. We got together regularly for drinks and catch-up, but at that point a few weeks had gone by without seeing other, and the state that he was in floored me. Unshaven, hair wild, eyes desperate.

"Need a favor, B," were the first words that'd poured out of his mouth. Followed by more words, crazy-stupid-so ridiculous I'd almost accused him of being drunk. But no. And it hadn't been a big deal for me to agree, I'd already half convinced myself visiting Grams was the way to go in the first place, but a part of me also figured why not kill two birds with one stone.

And it's not that I believed in Lu's dumb plan, since it's been pretty clear to me in the years that I spent visiting Grams, sometimes entire summers with her, and getting to know her best friend's family...the Parkers were tight. Dysfunctional, but family in that real way. Messy and loyal and regularly in the habit of beating on each other, but also scary when they were unified against someone on the outside.

In other words, they were the kind of family that I'd always wanted when I was young. But then, mom and dad had other ideas. Like that two point five kids was one point five too many, and that divorce would roll off my back since eight years was old enough to have grown resilient.

And they weren't wrong, I guess. It worked out. Grams would say otherwise, but in my own humble opinion, I'd led a pretty charmed life.

Especially if you talk to Lu.

He's trying to stay chill, never once looking across to the red-haired man standing by the window, and the whole time my Grams is grilling him about how his internship is going at the production studio, I'm finding myself eyeing the bright blue snowman sweater Lu's sporting. The snowman's got a crooked orange nose and the whole thing is-

I eventually choke from trying so hard not to laugh, hiding it by sipping from my punch. I really want to take a picture so I can use it as blackmail, once we're both back in New York.

"Like it?" he asks. "Joss was nesting."

"Clearly," I say, biting back a grin. "She should do it more often."

"Ha. Ha." He looks around, catches sight of his sister, now toting the origin of that nesting, in a baby carrier strapped to her front. She mows down a few people standing between us and her, and before I know it, vivid blue eyes are beaming brightly down on me.

"Oh, my God," she says, her face fuller and more lined than I remembered, heavy bags under her eye a testament to her new status as mom of a newborn who had probably robbed her of sleep for the last couple weeks. "B, I didn't recognize you!"

"Getting that a lot tonight," I say, trying not to mutter. Grams had said when she met me at the airport that I'd definitely put on curves, but now after both Joss and Livvie's reaction, I'm starting to feel like an anti-Jenny Craig commercial. What didn't help? How often my grandmother kept eyeing my plate, as if my appetite was something alien.

This is one of those moments where I can hear Caro in my head, taunting in that high voice of hers. _A few more minutes staring in the mirror will change your world, B._

"You're so...grown! Shit, baby got back!"

I nearly spit out my chicken liver pate. Promptly, Lu's there, patting my back, rubbing soothingly. The way he lingers irks me, a reminder of the show that must go on and to which we have at least one captive audience. I see a flash of red hair and edge away from Lu's hands, but too late, because Joss registers it. She's never been slow and the arched brow and frown as she studies us has me shuffling nervously.

"She's precious, Joss," my grandmother says out of the blue, reaching out to caress fine hair from a small, round face. Wide blue eyes twinkle back at us, the creature in the carrier giggles, and tiny plump fists reach out to charm us some more. This is the first I've seen of Joss's baby and it won't be the last of the night. Not with Grams cooing and aching. I'm sure at some point my grandmother's going to end up changing diapers with me as her assistant.

But she surprises me because instead of asking to hold the baby, she turns away, letting someone grab her attention.

"Not now," I hear her grumble, but there's an undercurrent of insistence in the other woman's voice as she's talking to my grandmother, so I turn, too. And why am I not surprised? Mr. and Mrs. Parker standing together, or rather, trying not to leap away from each other. The way they are never fails to put me in mind of magnets that are set to repel.

Somehow, they've bucked expectations. Last year they'd celebrated their thirty-something anniversary. I know because I spent a long time hearing my grandmother complain about finding the right present for them.

I'm busy staring at them, smiling because now they see me too and in their expressions I'm not sensing that they're about to tell me I look like a stranger. They've known me since I was a kid. At one point in my childhood, in those first few years when Grams moved back to Portland, I spent more time in their home than I did in hers. Tagging along as another Parker practically, tailing Lu and Livvie around town.

"I seem to remember," Mr. Parker's saying, engulfing me in a hug before offering me up to his wife like I'm their long lost prodigal daughter. "Someone promising to visit more often."

"Bah, don't go giving her the guilt trip." Mrs. Parker steps forward, her embrace tighter and longer, with a pat on the back of my hair for good measure to let me know that she doesn't hold it against me, staying away so long. "If I was her age, I'd be in the big city too, living it up."

"But is she?" Mr. Parker asks. "Or is someone just burying her nose in dusty books and forgetting to call her friends and family?"

Okay. So they know me well. They're practically my second set of parents. All of them like family really...except for one.

"Why don't we ask Lu?" comes a third voice. "He can paint a better picture."

It's one I've heard a thousand times, mostly in my head. Mocking, deep, even a little melodious under the right circumstances. I spent years daydreaming it, and then moved into a period where I ran away from it. And now, it'd been way, way too long since I last heard it.

Once upon a time, I'd fancied it. Him. Drove myself batty back when I was in middle school, lovelorn and sick to my stomach anytime I was around him.

I don't look around to place the voice, barely even acknowledge that I heard it at all; Lu, though, is eyeing me closely and must he? Just doing that's broadcasting something to the others, I'm sure. My old paranoia weighs down on me, an old friend I'd long since thought I'd kicked out of my head.

Figures that all it takes is one person to resurface my self-conscious awkwardness. There went B.B., reinvented independent city girl, and here was good ol' Bonnie Bennett, pathetic lovesick doormat.

"B, hon.," Mrs. Parker says to me, as if she just now remembered something. "There's something I need to ask you."

The distraction comes at a great time-there goes Mal Parker, stepping forward between his parents.

Cliché as it sounds, it's the sun breaking from clouds.

The first thing that hits me is blinding color-glaring red and then a bug-eyed turkey face with two bright feathers and a buck-toothed smile from the depths of its beak, staring at me from the vicinity of a hard male chest. I'm frowning, not sure if the sight of those muscles throws me more than the ugly sweater, before I realize in a jiff that I actually like the sweater. Joss made it.

Its wearer-the owner of those muscles? Not so much.

"What's that, Mrs. Parker?" I ask, unsure what inhuman effort I'm using to keep myself sounding so unbothered. It helps that I haven't looked away from the turkey, which is now trembling a little.

"It's nothing big."

Her voice is smooth and warm, like honey, if honey could sound just a little slurred from the effects of one too many glasses of Riesling.

The turkey starts shaking more pronounced now, and here I make a mistake-I glance up.

Huge, huge mistake. Ever have moments where you go deaf? Not the kind where the ringing in your ears muffle out sound-those are normal and just the by-product of aging. No, I'm talking those times when everything goes dead quiet, and it's not just the world around you falling away, or your ears failing. It's your brain, shutting down and not bothering to send SOS signals, just cold turkey flat lining, if only for a few seconds.

This happened to me a lot, back in junior high.

Sad to say, it's happening all over again now.

I see storm clouds set in deep eyes, a familiar high, sharp ridge of a nose that's always for as long as I could remember looked down on me. Not in a snobby way, but merely superior like him being older meant naturally that he was better. His skin was smoother than Joss's, which was strange because they were twins, the exact same age. But he looked a whole decade younger, probably for lack of a child. Or personal commitments of any kind.

Lu had kept me posted, regularly and usually despite my protests that I could care less.

Yet...

Damn the guy. Approaching forty hadn't hurt him at all. If anything, it's making him more lethal. Mal Parker, more than ever, is over six feet of gorgeous, every inch of him mouthwatering man. Everything about him, just bigger than I remembered. More. His stubble, his muscles, and why- _why?_ -had someone decided to carve the edges of his features to accentuate, just a little better, how proportionate everything was? Good Lord. Even in his stupid turkey sweater, his sex appeal could bludgeon you.

And now he's a lawyer, just made junior partner supposedly, and I don't give a rat's ass except that now his ego's likely the size of Texas.

On principle, on paper-I hate the guy.

"Are you and my son dating?"

The turkey on Mal's chest is straight up rollicking now. Moments later, it comes out, deep rumble of laughter reaching my ears, sending my toes curling against my will even while my brain flicks back on, the light bulb inside my head casting light on Mrs. Parker's words.

I'm blinking to process, seeing that Lu's got a really obvious look of relief on his face and his mouth is open to confirm his mother's suspicions-when Mal's smirk grabs my attention. Slow, leisurely tilt to the corner of his mouth...aaaand I am staring. Like an idiot. Argh.

"Isn't it obvious, mom?" Mal winks at me. "Our little B.B.'s in love."


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Thanksgiving, people! :)**

 **Chapter II**

Half my life, I've been caught between two worlds-the one in Virginia with just me, dad, and a revolving door of exotic goldfish in dad's extravagant fishbowl...and the one here in Portland.

With my Grams and her kooky lifelong friends the Parkers.

That world's never been quiet.

When I was younger it gave me passing feelings of being an alien abductee victim. Nine months out of the year, life was normal with my dad, the occasional visits with my mom in Atlanta, and then my friends at home in Mystic Falls. Then summer rolled around, Grams would come sweep me up, and away we'd go to Portland.

I spent a lot of time that first year trailing her taking in tours of the distilleries and huge arboretums around downtown. Grams went all in on the easy-breezy life, even entered a biking phase, that lasted until she realized she couldn't stuff as many shopping bags from Chinatown into her little bike basket as she could inside the trunk of her car.

Most of the time, Mrs. Parker and half her gang of kids were with us.

I didn't like it at first, their invasion. In time, I got over it, but never over the fact that there were _so_ many of them. Not one, but _two_ sets of twins? When I first met them, I'd asked my grandmother if some of the kids were adopted. She had to wait a couple years to explain.

Apparently in their hey-day Mr. and Mrs. Parker went at it like rabbits and eschewed the concept of birth control because they were bohemian like that. Years ago, Mrs. Parker had told me baby nine had tried to come along but it didn't work out, and the doctor stepped in and told Mrs. Parker a try for baby ten would kill her.

Shortly after, Mr. Parker got a vasectomy.

Once, when they'd been hanging out in Grams' back patio nursing a few too many drinks, he'd admitted in the presence of me, Lu, and Livvie that it'd been the smartest thing he'd done and wished he'd gotten to it sooner. For maybe a month, Livvie and Lu both hadn't talked to him, and he never figured out why because while he can run a family business with his eyes closed, the man is totally clueless sometimes.

But he never means harm; if anything, to me he's always been a little more like a normal dad than my own. Mr. Parker taught all his kids baseball and how to build wooden napkin holders and birdcages; even got around to showing me how change the oil on my car. He knew how to cook.

My own dad had ten restaurants on speed dial for both last-minute reservations and take-out, got his car serviced, called roadside assistance to change his tires the one time they blew on the highway, and as far as sports went, he followed football-not the American version. The only sport I ever learned, half-heartedly, was soccer, back when dad thought he could groom me to join the women's team.

On the flip side, the few times my dad's made it out with me to visit Grams, Lu used to tell me I was the lucky one. Go figure.

Moments like this, though, I believe it.

Mr. Parker's frowning at us, and I'm a little uncomfortable now because it looks from his body language a lot like... _disapproval?_

Mal's flippant comment earlier about me being in love has Grams and Lu's parents all watching us closely. Lu's thrilled with the reaction-me, not so much, but what puzzles me most, even more than Mr. Parker's expression, is Mrs. Parker. She almost looks disappointed.

Which doesn't stop her from grilling us.

I'm smarting a little by their reactions, I have to admit. But I try not to read into it. Damn Mal and his knack for planting doubt where before there was none. Here I was, sure that Mr. and Mrs. Parker would be thrilled to find Lu settling down with a girl next door type. Even better, the girl next door that'd been a lifelong friend. I'm calm, and smart, and on paper I'm the best boring girlfriend to have, for someone who's had a history of being all over the place the way Lu's been.

I try to give Mr. and Mrs. Parker the benefit of the doubt-it's possible they see me and Lu and the total lack of sexual chemistry. I mean, they would know, right? Having procreated all those times.

I'd been pretty adamant myself, just a few weeks ago, that nobody would buy this.

But I stick to the plan.

Lu remains vague and coy, and I'm mostly silent, letting him do most of the talking about how it's going in New York. Every once in a while, he touches my hair or the side of my face-anything intimate, really, to keep everyone guessing. My irritation's growing, and the longer I think about this thing he's pulled me in, the more I realize how dumb it is.

My stare finds Mal. He's sipping from his wineglass, way across the room, having successfully implemented his hit-and-run method of stirring trouble. He doesn't notice me watching, as busy as he is mingling with a group that don't look familiar to me.

There's a trio of women there beaming at him. Poor things. Right now, they think they've found a prime specimen of manhood. For the next five minutes, none of them will find him off putting. I know when he wants to make an effort, he can easily charm the pants off anyone. I haven't seen him in years and we were never that close, but he'd been my stupid crush once, and some things a girl picks up on.

I'm going to go with female solidarity and have trust in their higher brain power figuring it out as the night wears on. Don't let the pretty man with the bright smile fool you, ladies.

An appetizer plate materializes before my eyes.

"This one," Mr. Parker is saying, pointing with pride at the tiny scallions mashed with feta cheese. "I made all by myself."

"Oooh," I say, happy to try anything home made of his, before I cast a suspicious look up at him. "Wait, are you trying to pry dirt about Lu from me with this plate?"

There's an exasperated tilt to his jaw as he stares back. "Just try it."

For a few moments, I chew and think. It's good, no doubt. Yet there's something missing. "No salt?"

He grimaces.

It clicks. A lot of the plates I tried earlier were missing salt. He must've made all those. I'm confused momentarily, eyeing him.

"Using new seasoning?"

"Something like that," he mutters, and then-for lack of a better way to put it-actually turns tail and runs.

Odd.

-x-O-x-

I find B.B. in front of the turkey tree.

One of my nieces three years ago made this paper mache arts and craft concoction that I can't make sense of, except it resembles a bird and it's attached to a metal stand that keeps it upright and sturdy. Little slips of paper hangs from its feathers. The thing's become family tradition. Sort of an improvement on a practice that I detest, where people go around in turn at dinner sharing what they're thankful for-that kind of corny's reserved for Hallmark channel movies.

How it works: guests come in, write their thanks on the small slips and attach it to the feather's clips. Right now it's brimming with paper, since we've got over thirty guests.

I'm probably the only one who hasn't weighed the feathers down yet.

That's where I find her, right on the verge of adding to the collection. I'm nonchalantly strolling her way, glad to have this chance because from what I've gathered of the dirty looks she's been spearing me with the past half hour, she's not all that pleased with my greeting from earlier.

I've thought about it some over the years and wonder at what precise point it went wrong. As a kid, she used to think I walked on water. Somewhere along the way, I toppled from that spot.

Definitely by the time she hit eighteen, things had already gone sour...

 _I returned home expecting some kind of fanfare. Getting into law school late and working my way through it on the East coast had taken its toll on me. I missed home. My parents, my siblings. And they'd all been hinting that it was time to get back. I reached a point where I was ready to listen._

 _Law school, passing the bar, and then clawing my way through a couple firms to get my experience in-they'd pushed me in a direction I wasn't sure I wanted. Going home, I knew instinctively, would clear my head._

 _Dad picked me up from the airport, more quiet than usual. Every once in a while, he brought up the latest home reno-trying to tear down one of the smaller rooms to make one of the half baths into a full. I didn't register which half bath they meant. There was one in the basement and then the one that Lu and Livvie had shared. It wasn't until we arrived home and found Lu in the foyer surrounded by luggages that it struck me._

 _They were getting rid of Lu's room._

 _I was coming home just when he was leaving for NYU. He'd texted me a few weeks ago, but until just then, I'd forgotten._

 _The rest of the house was quiet. Livvie was already gone, had booked a flight early to her college down in Virginia before the academic year started._

 _We caught up for only a few minutes and then Dad disappeared to his garage while Lu went upstairs for last minute packing._

 _As I dragged the rest of my bags in, I heard a car pull up. The green VW buggy swerved into the driveway, parking neatly there, and seconds later, B.B. stepped out. When she saw me, she ran up. I got a little excited, sure, even jogging to meet her halfway, ready to catch her because it almost looked like she would throw herself into my arms._

 _A thought that failed to strike me as strange. Technically we weren't tight like that, but it was B.B. I'd known her so long, she could've practically been one of my sisters._

 _But she pulled short at the last moment, wind from her run bringing the scent of her to my nose. Made me realize that I'd missed her. Maybe even more than I did some of my siblings._

 _And she smelled good-a little bit like home, even._

 _I got a good look at her. She was eighteen now. Like everything else about that day, there was a compilation of changes that didn't sit well with me._

 _"Welcome back," she said, and even though her voice was bubbly and warm, a little hint of coolness was creeping into her eyes. "Just when I'm leaving, too!"_

 _"Yup, I timed it that way," I quip._

 _"Why am I not surprised?" she replied, the chill in her eyes making its way into her voice._

 _Lu stepped out on the porch then, calling out while he hauled his things. I helped him situate the bags in trunk, joking about his one bag being bigger than the buggy, which I suspected probably didn't possess a speedometer with a needle that moved past fifty miles an hour._

 _"You'd get to New York faster wheeling yourself on that luggage set," I told B.B._

 _Prompting another glare. She honest to God took offense and even rubbed one edge of her car like I'd hurt its feelings._

 _In a few minutes, they were ready to go. They'd already done the farewell thing with my parents, then my brother hugged me while B.B. spared a quick wave. But some rare whim had me walk them all the way to the driveway to see them off._

 _"Keep us posted where you are on the road," I told my brother casually._

 _"Careful, Mal," B.B. said, sending one of her cutting looks my way. "Almost sounds like you're worried."_

 _"Of course. You're taking my baby brother cross country in a Little Tikes coupe."_

 _What came over me, why I kept pushing it, I'm not sure. But her being snide rubbed me the wrong way and-well, it wouldn't be lying, if I likened it all to a crushing blow. Coming home to find Lu and Livvie gone? Joss clear on the other side of the state, everyone else scattered. What was left for me?_

 _I could've possibly started brooding, only B.B. held up a fist, made pretend reeling gestures with her other hand, and then slowly lifted her middle finger up to flip me off._

 _It jolted me out of the blues, had me chuckling while Lu smiled and ducked into the driver's seat, taking the first shift._

 _In a few short minutes, they were halfway down the road. I watched them drive off, trees lining their path on both sides. Waving to them, I stood on the front porch like an old geezer letting the new brigade out for their day in the sun. Which was true enough._

 _The last thing I saw of her face was a smile. This time, it wasn't cold or sneering, no scorn, no worship-only something sad and fleeting._

 _Childhood, gone forever._

 _I threw myself into work after that, and my parents. Their business, their estate planning. For a couple years there, I didn't stop for a break._

 _Portland wasn't New York. Several thousand miles lay between the two, which I thought of crossing, often, but what would be the point? was what I always asked myself. I'd sowed my oats, now it was their turn, and anyway, they'd find their way back._

 _Just like I had..._

I watch her now, amused by her attempts to read a few of the tiny notes. What did she care, what any of us were really thankful for? She'd barely been in town for half a decade now.

The thought grabs me, has me wondering if it's that easy, forgetting us. Even her Grams. That one, I don't get. It's one thing if she had my mom as her grandmother-the woman's a hypochondriac. Every day is something new with her arthritis and osteoporosis and the depressing effects of gravity on a woman's breasts and uterus. It's never nothing with my mom.

Sheila Bennett, on the other hand, is as stoic as they come. Even though she's older than my mother, she never complains. Not even when her only granddaughter doesn't bother to show her face for long stretches at a time.

"Let me guess," I say, standing beside B.B., reaching out to play with one of the turkey feathers. "You're thankful...that this will all be over in three days, and you'll be on your way back to the overpriced furnished closet that you rent in Park Slope?"

She slides her eyes at me, totally inscrutable. Used to be, you could read everything in those eyes.

B.B. is most definitely not a damn kid anymore. I knew this, that time before she'd left with Lu for the east coast, back when she was eighteen.

But Jesus-I'm not prepared for this.

Her hair's still loose and a little wild-that hasn't changed-and she's always had that coaxing, shy smile, her inner good girl shining through her pores practically. But anytime I'm around her, there's a shift. That all goes into hiding. I sensed it five years ago, and it's clear now.

There's a stubborn tilt to that wide mouth; the green in her gaze turns hooded. I don't know if she realizes, but it's seriously fucking sexy. I almost wonder if she's playing me. It wouldn't be the first a woman's tried, but definitely my first seeing it from her.

I'm a little aghast at my reaction.

And then it has me thinking.

"So you and Lu, huh?"

She opens her mouth on reflex, seems to think better and clamps it shut, all in one go. I shake my head at her, rubbing my jaw because I put and two together a long time ago with Lu, so this thing that's supposedly happening between them that they're trying to sell at this party? It's gotta stop.

"How do you know I'm in Park Slope?" she asks, her voice low, careful.

Husky, even.

Christ, I need to get a grip.

I cast my eyes around, shrugging, and then focus on the glass of punch on the table, near the turkey. It grounds me, puts a smile on my face. Cute. She's drinking punch.

"Big brother is watching?" I try.

"Great. Not creepy at all."

"C'mon, B.B. We're all family here. Why wouldn't I know?"

"Because Lu and Grams are the only ones who know exactly where in Brooklyn I am, and I can't imagine how that would come up in any conversation with you. And _we,_ " she motions between me and her, "are not family."

"Thank God for that," I mutter, all that's really crossing my mind then, how disturbing it'd be if we were, because then I'd have to stop looking at her mouth wondering how soft it'd feel to touch.

"Why are you always such a dick to me?"

Wait, what?

"You made it clear, years ago. I'll never make the mistake of finding you appealing ever again. You're safe from me, Mal. Why don't you just leave me alone?"

-x-O-x-

The long wooden trestle tables can seat an army; seating everyone for dinner, then, isn't a headache at all, especially with Joss and Ro on top of everything, and Shelly flittering around like the hostess Mrs. Parker's been training her to be most of her time.

I'm not sure who was in charge of the arrangements, but it's pretty inspired. Two larger tables with all the adults in the middle, and at the edges are smaller kids tables, giving the parents a break but keeping them close and within monitoring distance. It's cozy and I'm a big fan until I see where I'm seated.

Mal's almost directly across from me, and flanking him are the women I'd seen him with earlier, the brunette in particular flush close at his side. They're sharing winning smiles at each other, and I get a particular urge to retch.

Next to me, I feel Lu's elbow nudge mine. On my other side is Joss. Well, at least I have good company on my side of the table.

The turkey and stuffing comes out, followed by the ham and soufflé, and then in short order, salmon teriyaki, wild rice, butternut squash salad, pumpkin soup with cran-apples, spiced pecans...I lose track twelve dishes later.

Mr. Parker's beaming along with his wife, Joss, a couple of the other Parker kids, my Grams, a few of the neighbors that I recognize, and then, to my shock, even the brunette at Mal's side. It's that smile of pride, a telling sign that they'd contributed to the awesome spread that my eyes are feasting on.

There's a buzz of mild conversations and utensils hitting the plates for long minutes. Voices carry here and there, but for the most part it's calm, even from the kids table. No dramatic arguments, unexpected confessions, long lost secrets. For the Parkers, it might actually be the first time nobody's spilled any blood or tears.

It's not that it's boring, but that I'm pretty sure based on past experiences and also word of mouth-something's bound to happen.

Imagine my surprise, when it does. Nothing major, but there's a pressure on my foot. The first time, I think it's one of the legs, except a few minutes later, it's there again. No way that's the table, unless it's reanimated by some strange magic. My feet shy away, and my toes find peace again.

Only, a couple minutes after, it's back.

My brow wrinkles, and I look up because that's my first instinct, seeing if the person across from me has accidentally played footsie with the wrong person.

The woman there's sipping daintily from her soup. It's the pretty brunette, and she flashes a calm, demure smile back, totally making me question first her sexuality and then mine. Because she really is a fetching thing, but no-I'm straighter than a rod, despite my firm belief that having a girlfriend is probably much less of a headache than having a boyfriend.

I hear a throat clearing; it's Mal, raising his brows at me, nodding to the salt that's resting between us.

"Mind passing that over?" he asks me.

It's closer to him than me; my frown deepens. A multitude of things cross my mind.

Something about salt-why that's important, I'm not sure, but it is, and I stare at Mal some more. Seconds later, I feel another nudge on my foot.

"Oh," I say, surprised, realizing now where it's coming from.

It's a large foot, the toe part of the shoe resembling almost a boot, from the feel of it. I sense it well because my own boots are thin.

It's Mal's boot.

He's playing footsie with me.

The pretty girl next to him leans into his side, he accommodates by offering his ear closer.

"Do you like soup?" I hear her ask.

There's nothing in his bowl. I'm not surprised. He's not a fan of drinking hot liquids from a bowl. There's a better chance he'll try the soup if it's disguised in a coffee mug.

"Sure," he lies.

"I made the pumpkin soup," she confesses coyly.

"Note to self. Will try that next."

He's charming her with that grin of his. Meanwhile, his boot is on mine.

Why. is. he. _doing._ this?

"Shaker, B?"

I whip myself out of my seat, so fast Lu and Joss snap their heads to watch. Slowly, with precise movements, I lean forward and slide the salt over to him, making it obvious to everyone at the table how ridiculous his request is, when I have to practically lay my torso across the way, while he could more easily have used one long, buff arm to pick up the shaker himself.

As it happens, I'm straightening and offering him one of my snippy 'happy now' smile, when I catch sight of what's on his plate. An enormous serving of turkey and stuffing. Every year his dad's turkey game goes beyond amazing, and this year it's moist, warm, delicious except...

It's bland. No salt.

My mind whirls, my eyes feel like they might be following. I see Lu's face, focus on that, remember his desperation weeks ago.

"My dad's gonna train me," he'd said. "Have me take over some of the business accounts."

Finally. It's only what Lu's wanted for years, being given the chance to show that outside of his music and surf boy style, he's got sharp business acumen. The muscles only needed stretching.

"I need to spend a lot more time back home. I can't rock the boat now, B.B. Help?"

But why now? Why not before? It's all wonky.

I look at Mal. He's quick, his eyes are tracking where mine have landed, Lu and the stupid salt and the turkey. It's when I look at Mr. Parker that Mal gets to his feet himself.

Much more smoothly than me, his movements casual.

"I can tell what you're thinking," he says to me. "We need an extra shaker."

He's on my side before I can process his next move, which is to take my hand and pull me out of the room and into the kitchen, then past it, and out the back door.

I don't realize until then that I'm warm, my cheeks feel like they're burning. Snow's still drifting down from the sky. I walk down the steps and onto the sheet of white on the ground, marring the canvas with my booted steps. They look awkward on the snow, but then Mal comes to join me. His boots are enormous next to mine, the footprints he leaves in his wake turning my own tiny and delicate.

"You always reminded me of a younger, more ethnic Miss Marple," he says affably, pocketing his hands while he stares up and out at a gray world that's almost the exact shade of his eyes right then.

"No-salt diet for your dad?" I ask him. I'd heard it years ago, Mrs. Parker and Grams both heckling him over cutting back. But what I'm seeing now is taking it to new heights. "Pretty extreme, all the effort."

Mr. Parker's sticking rigidly enough to it that he didn't even bother adding even just a little for the benefit of the guests. And for all that he's mumbled most of the night about beer and drinking, he hasn't once gone to the beverage table and poured himself Scotch or brandy. His usual go-tos. Now that I'm dwelling on it, I realize it even looks like he's carried the same can of beer all night.

For show, I realize.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Exacerbated kidney failure. Liver's nearly kaput, too."

"Who else knows?"

"Mom. Sheila."

He's still staring up, making me wonder if he wants to try to catch snowflakes in his mouth. It's an awkward moment. He's trying to play it off, and I just want to hug him. If it were any other Parker, I'd already be there, offering comfort.

"I'm sorry, Mal."

"He's not dying tomorrow, B.B." The smile he wears is slight but real; there's warmth in his eyes now, instead of the mockery that I've seen for a solid thirteen years. "He's still got time to watch Lu fail at the business."

"Stop," I chide.

"Fail and regoup," he adds. "Hey, it's all trial and error, right?"

"Like you playing footsie with me?" I ask. "Just so I could pass you the salt?"

He laughs. "Nah. I just wanted to step on your feet."

I laugh, too, but mostly because I want to cry. Then I do, I start sniffling, thinking of the man who taught me how to check the pressure in my tires so they don't pop from too much air.

To my utter shock, Mal hesitates only a second. I'm rubbing clumsily at my eyes for lack of a tissue when he offers a glove. The material is smooth, soft. I hate to ruin it so instead I lean in and wipe my face on the front of his jacket since it's sturdier and not in need of dry cleaning.

I don't do it for a hug, but that's what happens. I'm moving back when he traps me, then wraps himself around me. At that point, I'm not even sure it's real. The former object of my affection has me in his arms, warm, secure, and comforting. I was fourteen years old the last time I had any hope of this ever happening. Now I wish it wasn't. At least, not for the reason that's prompted this closeness.

But wow, he feels good.

We don't speak, I can't be sure for how long. It's not uncomfortable, but all too soon it's over.

Lu comes out, and he misses Mal and me caught in this embrace because we're breaking apart like guilty inmates as soon as the door swings open.

"There you two are! What're you up to?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm gripped with the need to finish this fic, or at least, the Turkey Day sections of it. So here's more. :)

 **Chapter III**

My parents toned it down this year with the decorations. The tablecloth isn't loud, although it is gold, but this year instead of vomiting gaudy Santas and reindeer figurines all across it, there's just a couple hurricane bowls mixed with seasonal fruits, pine cones, and shiny round ornaments. It's like someone-safe bet it's one of my sisters-decided to take pity on mom and her Dynasty-era approach to decorating.

I'm glad, although secretly I miss the Rudolph statue. It's my one weakness-his nose is bulbous, even painful looking, and I once, back in third grade, broke it off on purpose just to give it a rest. Then later super glued it back on, finding that it looked wrong without it.

I'll never admit any of this, not even under duress.

The glass of wine in my hand is my fourth, which is more than what I should be drinking since I have a long ride back into city proper after this-but I can't help it. Some nights, a man needs fortification.

Tonight's one of them.

I'm tucked away from the main house, but still on the first floor, still have a view of the guests wandering around, individually or in clusters. A few people have started trickling towards the exit, on their next round of eats or maybe off to face the Black Friday shoppers.

The brunette I met earlier isn't one of them. She's never too far away from me and I know soon I'll need to talk to her again. My mother, AKA the matchmaking demon, keeps sending me prodding looks, and if I don't haul ass it'll get awkward. Not that I care if I hurt anyone's feelings. But I figure, maybe it's time, and this is my best chance to remind myself that, hey, there's needs that might need attending to. Work has kept me busy for so long, I no longer recall very well what it means to have a social life, and the worst part is I'm at a point where I don't even feel the lack of sex anymore.

For a man, that's a new damn low.

So. This brunette's wearing a bulls eye.

Why the hell I can't keep my attention on that frustrates me.

Nearby, I hear the creak of wood, followed by muffled voices. I lean forward, catch sight of the back door, then through the windows on the top, see a tumble of long, dark hair tucked inside a wool cap. Next to it is a slightly taller head, blond and offering a striking contrast.

My brother and B.B. have their faces bent towards each other while they share a private conversation. There's snow falling around them, Lu's smiling and B.B. has that look on her face. The one that usually means Lu's up to no good and pulling her in with him.

There's a split second where I get this urge to stalk over there and interrupt their little coze, the way Lu did minutes ago. No idea why, but it's there, and festering, and the natural reaction I have to that impulse is to indulge it. Why not? My baby brother was being a pain in the ass for no good damn reason, so I'm up, my feet's taking me there when three of my siblings and old Aunt Minerva flock to me, all at once, my aunt even barring my way with her walker that I'm ninety percent sure she doesn't need.

She's my dad's sister, and looks just like him. If he wore a gray wig, and shaved remarkably close to his skin, they'd be identical, even more than me and Joss. It unnerved all of us as kids, and now it still skeeves us out.

Livvie, John, and Shelly don't look thrilled to be there, any more than I do.

"Dude, have you heard they're getting rid of this place?"

John plops down on the seat in the corner, Shelly takes the matching one in the other, and Livvie keeps standing, arms crossed as she waits for my reaction. Aunt Minerva leans back, unfolds her walker, and seats herself on the cushion there, right in the middle of everything.

"What're you talking about?"

"Mom and Dad. Selling the house. Moving away."

"Right, okay." I don't laugh, even though I know they expect me to. The wrong approach to this could lead to fireworks. "Do we need to get into it now?"

Aunt Minerva titters, but the sound is forced. "This one knew. Told you."

Livvie's scowl gets fiercer by the second, and Shelly looks sick to her stomach, which she's grabbing, like the drama queen she's always been.

"How long have you known?" she asks. "Is it Mom? Is she dying like she always says? Why would they sell our family home? Why move? It doesn't make sense."

Livvie's glaring at her. "Shut up."

John somehow has a football in his hand and he's tossing it idly. "Sucks, man. Shoulda told us."

"What's there to tell?" I ask, then continue in a slower tone, patient like I'm talking to a room full of four year olds. "It's called re-TIRE-ment. As in, they're _tired_ of staring at the same walls, seeing the same faces. Time for mom and dad to explore while they can before we put 'em in nursing homes."

"No!" cries Shelly. "We'll never do that!"

My eyes find the ceiling, and I wonder briefly how Shelly has made it all the way to her twenties without dying of stupidity...forgetting to look both ways when crossing the street, blow drying her hair while simultaneously taking a bubble bath. Things she's still fully capable of doing, any day of the week.

"How long have you known?" demands Livvie.

There goes Aunt Minerva's cackle. "They probably went to him to draw everything up! The deed. The will." A long, crooked finger reaches up, pointing to him. "Made sure to get the lion's share of the cookie, too, I bet. Didn't you, Mal?"

"Lion's share?" I tell her pleasantly. "Silly old coot. I made sure to get everything. Every. Last. Dime."

"Asshole," Livvie mutters, but I can tell she knows I'm joking. Shelly on the other hand is starting to tear up a little, beyond hurt.

John's football careens through the air, nearly hitting my shoulder but at the last moment I whip my arm out to catch it. He means nothing by it, if anything he's more irked by Aunt Minerva than with me. I'm about to toss it right back, knowing it gets on the old woman's nerves, indoor horseplay. But in turning, I see from the edge of my vision that Lu's made it back inside, standing in the entrance to the room.

B.B. just behind him.

Both of them wearing the same even expressions on their faces, as they're taking in this wonderful family bonding moment. Judging by their reactions, they heard it all.

I start laughing, pointing at them. "So it is true. You date someone long enough, you start looking like them."

I lift a hand, from a distance framing my brother's face between my thumb and index finger, before moving onto B.B.'s. What I mean to do is run with my joke, pretend to compare their features, but my mouth goes dry as I get stuck on her features. There's several feet between us but everything B.B. related gets a mental zoom.

All I see is her.

For a second, I forget what air is, or that I need to open my mouth and nose and draw it in so my lungs don't feel tight. That little pixie face from childhood's filled out. Gone are the gaunt cheeks. Now there's a tantalizing curve to that caramel skin, and her eyes glitter. They'd been prone to doing that even back when she was younger, except then the light had been borne of hero worship.

Embarrassing for her and me both.

Me, my family-hell, the whole world knew she'd adored me once. Back when Sheila Bennett decided to relocate to Portland and introduced her young granddaughter to the loony bin known as the Parker household.

I don't remember soaking it up. She'd been a waif, shy and quiet but watchful. Hunger in her gaze, a dry sponge that needed moisture, and taking in my family's dynamics was the way to go about it. There'd been almost two decades between us, so at first I didn't pay any attention, except to box my brothers' ears anytime they brought it up to me.

At ten years old, Bonnie Bennett was sure she'd found her soul mate in a man in his late twenties.

Naturally, she gave me the creeps.

My parents thought it was harmless, her grandmother didn't worry about it much except to use it to keep the rest of the kids in the neighborhood in check, letting it get around that the little country mouse from some no-name town in Virginia was friends with the Parkers. That I, specifically, known a few blocks around as the resident jerk, would brook no bullshit when it came to the new kid in town. Nobody suspected how much it grew to rankle me.

Somehow, I avoided letting B.B. know that I wanted to launch a wrecking ball against the fairy tale castle stamped with my initials, that she'd had built out of her dreams. Would've been cruel, and maybe on another planet I could've broken her little teenage heart, but here I was capable of being sensitive, once in a blue moon.

So I don't understand where the occasional animosity on her part comes from.

"Lookit this." B.B. edges along the, miming wallpaper trying to slide horizontally out of the room. "A roomful of Parkers and one stray Bennett. One of these things is not like the other."

Aunt Minerva peers over at her squint-eyed; nobody else reacts.

"Think I'm gonna go...find some more food." And punctuating that with a tiny nervous laugh, she continues edging off.

Because I'm a gambling man, I saunter to the exit, blocking her way, smiling when she tips her head back. Then I get a wave of it, just like in court when I'm arguing for my client, that rush of anticipation when the judge sits looking grave, an entire jury panel giving off 'convince me' vibes, and then my client-eyes wide and scared-looks to me for answers.

Over a decade ago, as a girl, this one had heart eyes any time she looked my way. Now as a woman, I see nothing but defiance.

Daring me to try to tip the scales back in my favor.

"Hey, you never answered my mother's question," I say lightly, letting my eyes skip along her pert nose, her mouth just off-center from the rest of her face, wide and plush and full. The kind of mouth inviting sin, incongruous from the rest of her, and especially those green eyes that always looked deep in thought.

I knew a long time ago she'd grow up pretty. But damn-

This is plain rude, her beauty dropkicking me in the face. I get up, think I'm over it, and then I'm down again, half my teeth missing. Hugging her outside earlier with the snow landing on her face and her lashes and hair...well, that one had been my attempt to knock myself out. But she'd been upset and it touched me a little. My dad's looked out for her over the years, but her being absent all this time...who knew she still cared that much?

But then, it's her. Deep down, there's a voice in my head mocking my thoughts. B.B. isn't the type to shed her feelings that easily.

Though sometimes, she tries to put up a good front.

"About what?" she asks me now, impatient.

If I mention her and Lu, it'd come across as pushy. Desperate, maybe. Which I'm not. It's curiosity more than anything, maybe also disbelief. Because in all those years running around together, it's never crossed anyone's minds that B.B. and Lu would get together.

I know it doesn't fit. There's absolutely zero chance any of it is true. Or so I tell myself.

Her eyes are on the turkey on my sweater. Either that or she's counting my pectoral muscles, which granted are probably putting on a good show just then for her, underneath the thick yarn of bright red encasing them.

I've always stayed fit; outside of work both in the office and out when I'm playing consultant for my family and friends, running and strength training is how I pass my time. It gets boring, but it's far less complicated than the other extracurricular activities my colleagues get up to. Definitely more safe than girlfriends or wives.

Among my colleagues, our assistants a decade younger hustle trying to keep up with me, anytime we hit the gym at the office. They'd probably hate me, if I didn't occasionally soften the blow. Stroke budding egos. Convince them that I spent a long time being scrawny, that getting to thirty and beyond would move them to another level.

But really-what it boils down to is that I have good genes and that working out keeps me busy from other thoughts. Namely, about my dad and end of life care and his funeral and a family business that could potentially go down the drain if my siblings don't get it together. Oh, and most importantly, if mom will turn flakey on us all, go on back to back world trips, and get hitched to a random twenty-five-year old European on a Norwegian cruise.

Anything can happen.

A thought that's reinforced, as I track Lu's hands resting along B.B.'s hip.

Lu's the creative type, would rather strum some guitar or write poetry or some shit. I never understood it, but of all my brothers, he's my favorite. I'm aware that he possesses his own appeal, and I'm also equally awake to the fact that for the better part of the decade, that appeal has mostly been consciously directed to other guys.

Which is why I'm puzzled, how he's failed to mention that he's now dating his best friend all this time.

But I'm not gonna be that guy, the pushy relative sticking his nose in your business until all you want is for the plate of yams to get tossed over his head.

So I grin harmlessly at B.B. and Lu both, hoping it comes across more innocent, less wiley. "How long are you two sticking around?"

She lifts a delicate shoulder, opens her mouth, and then right on cue, in the background, I hear Bing Crosby start crooning from my parents' speakers.

 _"I'll be home for Christmas,"_ she starts lip synching, just in time to the lyrics, and she's elbowing Lu now, who jumps right into it.

 _"You can plan on me,"_ he says, his hand rising melodramatic, then fisting as he gives me this dopey sentimental look.

Livvie slides past them put the room, rolling her eyes along the way. "Idiots."

Granted, I haven't been in the company of buffoons in a while, so this show right now has my brows up and pointing to the ceiling. They keep it going, especially once John caves and laughs, intermittently throwing pillows at the pair. Lu and B.B. must practice together a lot, because the little show has no hiccups. When they get to the last verse, Lu strides over to Aunt Minerva, grabbing her shoulders and kissing her cheeks, aiming for longing-yuck-while B.B. stays in her spot, egging him on.

They're young, happy, goofy. I feel overbaked and underwhelming; something in me taking a hit.

In other words, I'm now the old coot, witnessing how much fun the young lovers have with each other.

I forget that the song is over while I'm trying not to brood. I'm taming the need to cringe at my own thoughts, almost succeeding when I feel B.B.'s eyes on me, studying my reaction. It's almost eerie, how focused it makes her seem, like I'm the only thing in the room right now for her.

Making me nostalgic for the good ol' days, back when she was knee-deep in young puppy love.

-x-O-x-

 _Garrett was back in summer school, for the third straight year, and the first week I spent home, all I could hear were my parents bickering non-stop whether to send him to boot camp before he started his senior year of high school._

 _I got sick of it, especially since all he did most of the time was brag about girls and bikes, or complain about helping out at the store. Joss and John had been hired on to help run it, and Garrett hated being their new errand boy. Clearly, my little brother had some entitlement issues I needed to straighten out._

 _One afternoon, I peered inside his room and heard him on the phone, and the way his shoulders hunched as he stared at his computer screen and kept looking over his shoulders, I could tell it was the right time to intervene._

 _Sneaking up behind him, I snatched the phone away, speaking into it deceptively soft. "Who's this?"_

 _The other line went dead, but the call log showed the number and when my eyes took it in and my brain clicked, I slammed the phone hard on his shin and the side of his head. "Douche bag, don't tell me you-"_

 _"No! No! God, no. I just-she's helping me, okay?"_

 _"With what?" I ask, a lot calmer now._

 _"A paper."_

 _Couple minutes later, I found myself knocking on Sheila Bennett's door. She had a smile when she answered, pleased but not surprised since I usually popped in to say hi anytime I came back. But the look on my face halted her._

 _"What's wrong?" she asked me, gripping my arms. "Is it your parents?"_

 _It snapped me out of my bad temper. After I reassured her, I fumbled a bit, since I wasn't a rat but I also needed to get B.B. to realize her way of helping my brother amounted to nothing but sweeping a pile of shit under the rug and spraying deodorizer over it._

 _"Can I take B.B. out for a couple hours?" I asked her, seeing instantly the best excuse. "Need her help picking out something for the twins birthday."_

 _"Sure it's a good idea?" she returned, although not, I knew, from any real worry that I was up to no good. "You're gonna make her year, but possibly ruin her life."_

 _"No worries, Sheila. I think I can handle a crush."_

 _But her gaze turned hard to read then even while she stepped back and ushered me inside. She was an odd lady; there were times I could've sworn she was reading minds, or looking into the future. Mom was sometimes the same way, except she never spooked me the way Sheila did. I grew uncomfortable, waiting downstairs while she let B.B. know about the impromptu visit._

 _I wasn't at all shocked when she reappeared minutes later with her granddaughter in tow, trailing far behind. B.B.'s nerves were spelled clearly across her young face. She looked so terrified I had to laugh when I stood._

 _"Ready to roll, B?" I asked, stepping up to her, absently noting that she now reached my chest but was still woefully short compared to even my youngest sibling. Livvie was to my shoulders and probably had room to grow, but I was fairly sure this was it for B.B._

 _"Still a munchkin, hmm?"_

 _To my utter surprise, that one earned a glare. The first I'd ever gotten from her, but the sharp green of her eyes fell quickly away when she averted her gaze again._

 _Strange kid._

 _The painful quiet in the car didn't bother me, as we rode to the mall. We were halfway there when she moved to turn the radio on, not asking me for permission. Amusing, that, because after years of idolizing me, I fully expected her to be quaking in her shoes with every move she made, but instead she was merely quiet, tuning and waiting for each station. When she settled on something from the top 40, that's when I snuck her a look and changed it._

 _"Liked that song," she muttered._

 _"Your laundry list of sins grows longer," I replied, smiling when I caught the tiny quirk of her lips._

 _Later, at the mall, she dutifully showed me a few things my twin siblings were into and I grabbed a few of them for gifts. Afterwards, I drove to my coffee shops, one of my regular haunts after work, where I got my extra pep for late nights of going through case files at home. B.B. wasn't into drinking that yet, of course, could probably stand to wait a couple years to keep caffeine from stunting what looked like an already weak growth spurt._

 _But there were cookies and cupcakes among other pastries, which I knew were her Achilles heel. Once I bought her the goodies, along with a milkshake, the change was damn remarkable. Where her thin face had seemed drawn, now her features lit up, and I saw just how pretty she was, underneath her layers of quiet and serious._

 _After that, it wasn't hard to pick up on the small change in her._

 _The way I caught her giving me furtive looks, it was obvious she'd started falling into some fantasy scenario where we were on a date. I needed to disabuse her of the notion. Quick and harsh, like ripping off a stuck band aid._

 _The idea struck, while I waited by the register for my iced drink. A way opened itself up for me. The woman at the counter had been there since last year, was an acquaintance of my sister Ro's, and it wasn't much to get swept into small talk. As we caught up, I learned the girl was on the verge of finishing paying her way through her last semester. Headed off to parts unknown. I didn't remember ever mentioning before in my last visits that I was currently based in Connecticut, but she apparently did._

 _"I have family I might go see up there," she said, leaning in to me and offering both my drink and a spectacular view of her cleavage. "Maybe I'll run into you."_

 _Connecticut's not that large a state, but it stretched a couple hundred miles, and I didn't really feel like sharing that I was in New Haven. I liked my anonymity._

 _I was at the point of extricating myself smoothly, had a line ready and all, when it struck me to check in B.B.'s direction. Sure enough, her mouth was slightly open and there was a wounded look to her pointed face as she gazed at me and the barista._

 _Perfect._

 _Even though, in that moment, my next move would make me an even bigger douche than my brother Garrett._

 _I smirked back at the woman at the counter, leaned in to whisper, "Who knows? We'll leave it to chance." Then let my mouth graze her ear, and I slip her my receipt back, but it was blank, didn't have my number, and I didn't bother looking to see her reaction._

 _What mattered was how it came across to a fourteen year old girl about to start high school, still clutching on to a fairy tale notion of a prince on a white horse._

 _"We're gonna need to cut this short," I said once I rejoined her at the table, letting my head turn back a little to the counter I just left. "My plans for tonight just got busier."_

 _Her reply was just to sip at her shake, and then fold up the small bag of pastries, and jam it into her pocket. "Sure."_

 _Then she fiddled with her cup, and I couldn't help dropping the act, leaning forward to see if she was hiding back tears._

 _She wasn't._

 _When she met my eyes, I saw that flash of anger. Not as quick to pass and definitely a lot warmer than before._

 _"I lied, B.B. Your grandma thinks I brought you here to help me shop, but that was just my excuse."_

 _"I know."_

 _If there was one thing I'd figured out, it was that this strange kid who liked me without any apparent effort on my part, was also textbook and people smart. In a way that exceeded most teens her age._

 _"Here's the thing," I told her. "Garrett isn't dumb. He's capable of reading. He's especially good at reading people. Now, if he's got an assignment he doesn't wanna do, and someone close to him comes along. Awwing over his problems. Feeling like she needs to save my slob of a brother by doing his work for him. Well, she's only doing him harm, really."_

 _The way she took in my words, her eyes skipping around before settling back on me carefully, reminded me of a wild animal caught in a trap and ready to bolt._

 _"Can't fix other people's issues, B. Sometimes they need to figure it out. It's called tough love."_

 _"Got it."_

 _"Do you?" I couldn't help that last part, and I know with the way that I stared back, there was probably an entire crowd of people around us-the barista included-having the wrong idea right then about a grown man sitting there with a teenaged girl, sharing an intense face off._

 _"Yeah, Mal." She leaned back, cutting off the eye contact, and it left me just a little relieved and also frustrated, the way it now felt like it was in her hands. Her mouth at the corner tilted up, her smile small and loaded with bite. Another first from her, when it came to me. I sensed a lot of scorn in that one gesture. "I get it, okay? Loud and clear. Thanks. I-I'm gonna go."_

 _And ran off, deserting our table. I would've gone after her, had a mind to track her down if only so I didn't have to worry about Sheila yelling at me._

 _But maybe it was better this way._

-x-O-x-

Lu's only come back to visit a handful of times, not very long ones, but at least I'd seen him occasionally over the years.

B.B. though-for whatever reason, our timing was off. We always missed each other. When she came, I was gone, and when I was home, she never had time to visit. My mother once mentioned it, joking that I must've done something to nip in the bud, B.B.'s old crush, and while I laughed it off at the time, now the woman in question is here, treating me like a thorn in her side. I can't help wondering if maybe mom was right.

But that's being self-centered. It's not about me, right? There's no way anyone would go to all that trouble, just to avoid me. I'm not that bad. And anyway, here's proof positive-if my brother and his best friend's antics can be believed-that the reason behind B.B. and Lu both staying gone for so long is...well, hard for me to wrap my head around.

But there it is, the obvious assumption: they'd found home in each other.

They're trying to spell it out clearly, in the looks they give, their touches. Lu's never been into PDA, but he can't keep his hands off B.B., whose never been touchy-feely herself but now arches like a cat anytime Lu gets near her.

To the common observer, now that she's so obviously no longer a kid-shit, who could blame Lu for trying?

There's curves everywhere, in all the right places.

That moment I caught sight of her, it was her eyes that drew me, no longer that warm or inviting. Now they alternate between icy and hot. But it's everything else about her that keeps me staring, and it's strange because I'm feeling outrage with myself at ogling this woman that I've known since she was yay high. But who knew anyone with such a tiny waist could have those hips that just...sway...without even trying-and her breasts that-I swear, her top isn't tight, but I can see the swell of her bra, driving me nuts-and then I'm trying not to look, but her ass...how the hell did _that_ happen? When?

She's been in New York for years. A billion eyes have landed on her ass, and who knew how many hands, and now I'm dwelling on the thought. Feeling a burn somewhere in my gut, moving up, suffocating me.

 _Dammit._

Lu's hands have been on her.

I give into this habit I have; when under pressure, my hands rub my face, down up, up down. When they drop away, B.B.'s gazing right back at me with those glittering eyes now no longer carrying adoration. I see a lot of mistrust there, actually. Not the best feeling, facing that. I like to think she knows me better than to believe the bullshit line I'd given my Aunt Minerva about trying to hoard my parents' wealth.

But now it hits me.

Bonnie Bennett never got to know the real Malachai Parker. Sure, we had a moment there in the snow. Embracing for the first time in our thirteen years of knowing each other.

It should've happened a little sooner, I think.

There's a gnawing somewhere, in between my ribs-maybe a little behind it, in between my lungs.

Without thought, I hurl the football and with a muttered 'oof' Lu catches it, giving me an odd look that I can't read. It's smug, and exasperated-he wants to roll his eyes, but then B.B. slides nearer to him, her slim petite hand landing on his arm, stroking.

"Turkey Bowl?" I ask him, tearing my eyes away from the sight.

He nods, his face going steely. "Sure, old man."

No, don't hurt him. He's your brother and he's done nothing wrong.

He's leaning in, his mouth finding B.B.'s hair beneath the cap and giving it a tender peck.

Okay, yeah, I'll beat his ass. Just a little. It _is_ a Parker holiday gathering. Not complete until someone's spilled a little blood.

-x-O-x-


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Gonna try to finish this fic, before the holidays are over... enjoy! :)

 **Chapter IV**

I'm in the kitchen with Livvie, breaking open Godiva hot chocolate mixes and wondering why she recruited me into helping when the words out of her mouth make it all clear.

"I hear you're dating my brother," she mutters, as she pours the milk. "How's that working out, you know, since you've always been in love with the other one?"

I shrug nonchalantly while struggling to keep my hand from shaking. "Livvie," I say calmly, in that bored tone that I'm pretty sure I have down pat after all those years hearing other New Yorkers at it. "Is it common to hold childhood crushes against people? Because in that case, I need to check on how you're holding up after Jake Gyllenhaal."

"The guy was _Donnie Darko_. I connected with a fictional character. It wasn't about the celebrity, it's about the message and the-"

"Irony of life, and the bitter reality of knowing escape is impossible." I nod dutifully, intoning words I hadn't heard in years, from an old debate between us that I had memorized since high school.

"So glad to know you paid attention," she says, smiling a little. "It was hard to tell sometimes, with your nose always buried in those tomes."

"Livvie Parker speaks, the world stops to listen." But I'm not entirely sarcastic, because the truth is, there's very few people as antagonistic as the blonde in front of me, but with the charisma to pull it off. "Except for those of us armed with earplugs."

"And you learned to crack a joke. Congrats, B."

"Thanks."

"Guess you had to pick up a sense of humor, choosing to teach brats for a living. Is that working out as well as your love life?"

"Better, actually. As opposed to someone whose career _is_ her love life. Somehow, I always knew you'd end up getting paid to manhandle people."

A laugh escapes her then, hearty and genuine, and I know as much as she wants to take it back, she's glad it happened.

"Yeah, well, you can blame your buddy Donovan for that. Who knew the police academy would be right up my alley." Then her smile grows conniving. "There I was just using it as a short-term excuse to escape the family business."

The comment reminds me of the conversation Lu and I walked in on, and I can see Mal's smirk and hear his greedy taunt to his family reverberating around in my head. He was being a dick to deflect, but I can't help seeing the damage it's doing, keeping it from his siblings. It can't be easy, having nobody to confide in about his dad's failing health. Later, once everyone does find out, they will all be pissed at him. When this whole time, he's probably been doing most of the leg work when it comes to situating the paperwork, the medical care, the entire damn end. I know instinctively it's him taking care of those things.

I can't imagine Mrs. Parker being capable of making hard choices.

I can feel my face turning drawn in thought, catch Livvie's expression turning thoughtful also.

"Why'd you stay away so long?" she asks abruptly, blonde hair shaking. "Tell the truth."

"New York is home."

"You practically grew up with us. You were always happier the three months you were here than the rest of the nine you spent with your dad in Virginia."

That statement settles over the room with finality; true words that I don't deny.

"If my mom has her way, your kids are gonna grow up with our kids. New York _isn't_ home."

"Mrs. P won't have it her way, Livvie. My entire life is there right now. Can't imagine giving it up."

Though maybe now, there was a reason to put it on hold. Spend a couple months back in Oregon.

"If Lu wants to come home?"

"Then he comes home."

"Exactly." Livvie's triumphant smile confuses me, until I realize the neat trap that she's laid. "No skin off your back, him leaving you. Gee, wonder why?"

"Sometimes, I can't stand you."

"Ditto."

I'm stirring the mix into the milk, then pouring it all into the thermos, while she's grabbing Styrofoam cups and we finish it all up in companionable silence before heading off to the porch, joining the others camped out there.

Mal's tall form turns to meet us, his hands reaching to take the giant thermos out of my hands, but I shoo him away. The patio table trussed in plaid and poinsettias serves as the hot chocolate station, and he's there right beside me, helping with set up in place of his sister. She hovers by my side, quick to read the tension off him and me both.

Someone comes up-the pretty woman with waves of brown hair tumbling perfectly over her shoulder. This close, I hear a charming accent and get the full effect of her megawatt smile and realize it's a full package, total dazzling effect. Great.

To be helpful and in a show of good faith, I smile brightly at her and Mal both, offering two cups and pouring for them, then effortlessly usher them away. He's resisting, trying to pass off his cup to someone else so he can resume station duties, but someone takes his spot eager for their own cup, and he's effectively bumped out of the queue.

It's a damn load off my shoulders.

Livvie's hovering, glaring at me as she whispers. It's not resoundingly clear, but I hear it well enough, but still play it off like I can't.

"You and Lu," she presses, with her typical gritted-teeth death glare. "Watch it. It's gonna blow up in your faces."

She's walking away before I can counter. I'm left alone at the hot chocolate station, my relief skyrocketing even more with her exit.

Everyone else is easy to serve, and before I know it I'm done, just in the nick of time. Mal's approaching the station for a second cup, looking almost disappointed to find the local hot chocolate maid is on a break.

I'm nursing my own warm cup in the safety of a corner farthest from him. Nobody but him is paying attention, but I see his face clenching up each time he tries to come near and I find a way to either put more distance between us or get caught up in a conversation with someone else.

I'm not sure why I do it, except that Livvie's warnings have me up in arms and I don't need another Parker-especially not Mal-digging any deeper into me and Lu.

Eventually, the small crowd around us trickles down onto the yard. The snow hasn't let up, it's maybe even a few inches higher, but does that slow the Parkers? Nope. Not even a little.

All eight kids are milling in the snowy grounds now except for Joss, because she's a smart mom who knows slipping and possibly breaking a few bones might endanger her chances of holding her very adorable two-month old. Instead, she gets her husband to take her spot, and he's not looking all too thrilled but staying mum about it nonetheless. Wise man.

Most of the guests are still inside-plenty to keep them occupied. Wine, food, music, hobnobbing. The ones outside are closest to the family.

Grams is standing next to me. Mr. and Mrs. Parker join us as we watch the steps, and then to my total shock make their way down, huddling with their kids.

"Must be a genetic mutation," I say out the side of my mouth.

"Lunatics," Grams supplies.

A couple of the other guests hear this and laugh, and everyone collectively grows quiet, listening to the Parkers and the those few guests joining them, indulging in a game of touch football. Broken bones be damned.

By nature of having been the star QB back in his day, John's calling the shots, although he keeps looking to Mal for clearance, and his older brother's barely paying attention, as focused as he is on Lu. Who doesn't seem fazed at all while he's grinning out at everyone, laid back and happy to be outdoors. He's like a dog sometimes. So easy to please-just give him his exercise and fresh air, and he's set.

I love Lu-he's the brother nature never gave me, that fate improved on. I don't know where I'd be without him. Which is why I'm doing all of this.

When his eyes catch mine, he blows me a kiss. I almost do my thing, my standard eye roll, but then remember what I'm there for. I pretend to catch it, and hug it to my chest, blowing one right back in his direction. Both of us taking note of the way Mr. and Mrs. Parker-and my Grams and Joss-scratch their heads. Livvie snorts.

I chance on Mal's face; it's now completely blank.

That's when I buy my first clue, and it floors me. No-scratch that, I am totally sucker punched. There's no way...

Floundering, all I can do is stare at him, but he fails to notice-he's all about Lu right now. What happens next is a rush of sound and movement, barely giving me time to think. There's formation, John's making calls, someone passes him the ball, and it sails in the air.

Lu's there, catching it. He's slipping and laughing, running to the other end. Lean and limber, it's no trouble to him, dodging everyone's hands reaching out to tap him-

And BAM-he's down, something huge and lightning fast, tackling him from out of nowhere.

Mal.

There's a shocked moment where the entire clearing is quiet, but for Lu groaning on the ground. He's buried under snow and the weight of his brother, and is it me or is Mal digging his knee-hard-into Lu's side? Lu, who's probably a good fifty pounds lighter on muscle and half a foot shorter in length.

Lu shoves him off, getting to his feet with a pained smile in place. From past experience, everyone knows that he can take hits but in this case, he shouldn't have to. But he roughly pushes past Mal's shoulder to huddle with his team, and when the next play starts, nobody's getting pummeled.

Sipping from my cup, I'm joined on the porch by Mrs. Parker, who's letting one of her grandsons take her spot. I hear footsteps, look over, and see the woman from earlier with the accent's approaching, her eyes shining with excitement and tracking Mal the whole time.

"Quite the play that was," she says in her posh accent.

Mrs. Parker's studying the field, sipping on her wineglass.

"Was your son on the football team?"

"Yes," Mrs. Parker says, her smile wobbly. "Star quarterback."

"Oh, my," the woman's expression turns more levels of intrigued.

"John," I say, pointing to the Parker brother who looks like his oldest brother if he had a thing for spiking his hair, and lost a few inches in height. "Not Mal."

"And Garrett was a running back," Mrs. Parker keeps going, pride coloring her tone now. "One of the college recruiters actually came down for him."

Then she's sighing, and I know why. The recruiter left as soon as they got a better look at Garrett's plummeting test scores and overinflated ego.

I'm studying the other woman's face, picking up that her interest isn't waning from Mal. She wants to ask about what sports he's into, I can tell. She looks at me, smiling again and because I don't have the heart to be a jealous witch, I look down at the steam from my cup of hot chocolate as I mutter, "Mal's thing is baseball, but he quit after he hurt his shoulder playing it."

She nods, eyeing me thoughtfully. "I don't think we were properly introduced earlier. Emma."

Sounds so classy and mature, compared to my own nickname. "B.B."

The way her focus shifts to me has me panicking since I'd just been side eyeing how slim and elegant everything about her is. What is it about the English that makes me think they've all gone to charm school? And what is it they say about their collective bad teeth? I indulge my pettiness to see if she's got that going against her, then swallow down hot chocolate in disappointment. Perfect pearly whites. Figures.

"Do you work together?" she's asking, drawing closer to me.

"With Mal?" A bubble of laughter escapes me at the thought; that'd be the day.

"Pardon. Something about you. Think you'd make a promising barrister."

"Um, no. History teacher." And two years young into the profession, but she doesn't need to know that. I wish then that my drink is slightly more age-appropriate. A wineglass or something. Maybe I can talk Mrs. Parker into switching with me.

I'm halfway to reaching for her glass, thinking of a way to talk her into it, when the small crowd around us starts to buzz, followed quickly by "Oh!" and "Ouch!" and "Yikes, _that's_ gotta bruise!"

I turn, see two familiar forms on the ground, fighting over the ball. This time Mal's the one on the bottom, his jacket and sweater riding up as Lu scrambles above trying to claw the football out of his grip. Pushing my way through the crowd, I get a better look and across the field, Mal's eyes find mine. He loses his grip, giving Lu the chance to snatch the football. He's on his feet, trying to get away when I see the way Mal turns crafty.

Lu trips over enormous boots that get in his way. Once he's down, Mal's knee again finds his brother's side, and his arms go around his neck.

I mean, it looks a lot like murder's about to be committed.

I run over first, uncaring as I shove the rest of the Parkers out of my way. Their approach to intervening is to yell at Mal. Yeah. Not helping.

My hands find Mal's shoulders. They're huge, bunched up tight and Lu's still flailing beneath his grip. I climb like a monkey over his back, wrenching Mal away, nearly toppling us both in the process.

"Get off him, you ass!"

We land on the snow, Mal turning last minute so he's the one who hits the ground. There's a second where I'm straddling his butt and it is beyond awkward, but I'm too caught up in making sure Lu stays alive to worry what kind of impression this is making.

Mal's eating dirt. His hands are against the ground, like I'm about to arrest him. I wish I was a cop just then, if only so I could have a baton to beat him with. My own murderous intentions must be broadcasting all over the place because in another second, he's turning us over. Quick, large hands keep me upright and in place so that I'm straddling him against my will.

"Hi," he says, snow and mud wreaking havoc over his entire face.

There's a world of mockery in those gray eyes, making me feel tiny but wrathful.

" _Touch._ Football. Do I need to explain the concept, Mal?" I ask, acid dripping from my tones.

My own hands are up, smacking his away. He manages to chortle, totally unbothered by my rage and his entire family gaping down at him.

I make my escape, leaning down to inspect Lu while everyone gathers around us.

"Are you okay?" we all ask.

"Think so," Lu manages, but he's wincing, favoring one side of ribs. "I'm good. Yeah."

We pull him to stand. A beat ensues where he and Mal eyeball each other, the air between them extremely hostile. It's not the first time a Turkey Bowl's gotten heated with the Parker clan, but it is the first involving Lu, who's usually Mr. Pacifist. I can feel the hairy eyeball from Mr. and Mrs. Parker, while Livvie and Ro toss each other knowing looks.

Meanwhile, Lou stumbles back into a new huddle.

"Should I bring out the helmets?" Garrett asks Mal.

But Garrett, for all that he's self-absorbed and prone to being even more of an ass than his oldest brother, sends a warning look Mal's way along with the taunt. John stands beside him, frowning. For a split second, I betray myself. No need to pick on Mal, is the thought that almost escapes my tongue, before I realize they're only trying to keep an eye out for Lu.

Who hasn't been home in a while and is the shortest and leanest of all the Parker boys. It's a perfect David versus Goliath matchup and I have no idea where the rush of pity for Goliath on my part is coming from.

"Let's stick to the rules," Shelly says firmly, hands on her hips as she glares at the two men in question.

They both ignore her; for the most part everyone seems to be fine with Lu rejoining the game. I'm not so sure, and find my way back to his side.

"Sit your butt down, I'm taking your place."

He starts laughing.

"Do it, or I'm gonna go pull Prince Harry there from the porch and let him take your spot." I let my eyes slide to the tall red-haired man looking plenty enraged as his eyes follow Mal on the grounds. "I'm thinking he'd be a lot better at getting payback than me, but that'd be a long story to tell, no?"

"No," Lu says, everything in his voice final. "I'm not hiding behind you."

"Funny," I say, my own tone scathing. "Since isn't that the whole point tonight?"

"Listen up, everyone!" he yells. "Screw touch football!"

Everyone stills once more.

His blond head bobs to his oldest brother. "You and me, Biff. It's on."

Mr. Parker starts shaking his head, Mrs. Parker is there right with him.

"You see now," Mr. Parker says to Lu, with a look that spells concern and disappointment both. "If you'd picked up sports like your brothers all those years ago, this wouldn't be a problem. But it's just not a good idea, Lucas."

It's the old argument that I've heard a lot from him, when it comes to Lu. This is why my best friend's got such hang ups. His dad simultaneously protecting him while also undermining his choices is the classic well-meaning but wrong parental move.

Lu's already chafing, I can tell, but before he can voice his own protest, a cacophony of rowdy voices rise up, drowning out the rest of Mr. Parker's impending lecture. Livvie's excited, I guess because she's a pro at physically tackling people? The rest of the Parkers kids and their buddies are all gung-ho.

Mal just shrugs, but in his eyes is a gleam of something wild that I've never seen in him before. I step towards him, there's confusion for a second in his return gaze, and then he takes in my stance.

I'm crouched, one hand touching the ground and ready to take him on.

Unlike Lu, there's no laughter from his quarter. I don't expect it from him; he knows I spent years in their backyard learning moves. He's also smart enough to know being small had its advantages.

He licks his teeth, bites down on his lower lip, and leans forward to match my pose.

"You're going down, Bennett."

"I'll take you with me, Parker."

John's shouting again, there's a lot of noise all around, but in the midst of it, I strain my ears to hear Mal's reply. It's under his breath, not sure that he means for me to catch it, but I do.

"Sure hope so."

Oh, my God, is he serious?

Innuendo...from Mal? Somehow I know he's not trying to charm me. If anything he looks disgruntled, but with himself or me, who even knows? The signs are there, anyone with a brain could read it from miles away, but I'm not a believer. Nuh-uh. First, there's a chance he's under duress. His dad is terminal. He just got promoted at work, in a career designed to give maximum stress. And also, there's the possibility that he hasn't had time to date.

All these things, I reach for as excuses for his behavior. It's easier to convince myself those are the culprits, rather than to assume the other thing:

That years after I've doused the torch I used to carry for him, the asshole decides I've finally joined the female race.

Because there's no way Mal Parker, man of the world, older and wiser and with a habit of telling me what to do-now has a thing for me. For little Bonnie Bennett, whose unrequited crush from years ago was worth his time only because it suited him to mock it.

-x-O-x-

 _Grams was hosting poker night with her friends in the neighborhood. Once in a while, I stayed to watch and learn, but that night, I guess they had things to dish which they thought my virgin seventeen year old ears couldn't be around to hear. Without any fanfare, Grams sent me away for the night._

 _It annoyed me, but at least I knew Lu was home. He'd bragged about doing a marathon viewing of all six Star Wars that weekend with another kid from his school. The idea of joining them made me shudder. I like Chewie and Luke and Yoda as much as the next person, but I knew from experience how Lu would watch it-pausing on key scenes to go over plot points and easter eggs in painstaking detail..._

 _I would really much rather have stayed with Grams, learned how to bluff, and find out what exactly they were all gossiping about._

 _But I willed myself to be a good sport, was working my way up to pretend to geek out over the space opera by the time I reached the Parkers' front door...when to my complete surprise, I found the wrong son opening it to let me in._

 _Mal stood there, broadcasting growing impatience while I blinked up at him in shock. He wasn't due to be back in town until next week. I was planning to use that time to shore up my defenses, to make sure by the time he arrived, I'd be miss nonchalant and unaffected._

 _But I was proud of myself; even without that week, I didn't spend too much time gaping at him. Instead, I stepped easily through the front door, at the same moment I heard the sound of a baby crying from upstairs._

 _Mal's face grew a little alarmed._

 _"Is that Katie?" I asked him._

 _He nodded before he disappeared upstairs. When I saw him again, he had Ro's one year old in his arms. Now she was all smiles and giggles, while Mal carried her through the house, towards the den._

 _"Lu and Livvie aren't home, B.B."_

 _"No kidding," I said, watching him place the baby in her jumperoo that was surrounded on all sides by piles of folders that lay in several rows on the rug. "Did they magically have plans that came up once they found out Ro needed a sitter?"_

 _Mal settled himself on the floor between two large filing trays, throwing a distracted, tight smile my way. "Are you magically going to announce the same?"_

 _"Depends." Katie was bouncing away, her jumperoo lighting up and playing happy music that set her into peals of laughter, the two little bottom teeth she sported peeking out at me. I scrunched my nose back at her, tickling her cheek. "Talk me into staying, cutie-pie."_

 _From the corner of my eye, Mal's head snaps up from the files; I feel his gaze on me for a sharp second before there's obvious relief on his part. He thought I'd been talking to him. Right, like I'd ever call_ _ **him**_ _that._

 _'Cutie-pie' didn't even begin to be apt for Mal. The dark long-sleeve and cords he had on outlined a hard, molded form I hadn't set eyes on in a while. I couldn't stop myself comparing him to the guys I saw regularly-leaner and younger. Hairless._

 _Dang, and just when I'd talked myself into going out with the lifeguard from the local Y. The one who'd begged Lu for my number because he'd lost it in one of his swim trunks the week before._

 _I stole glances at Mal, resentful ones this time. Figured, that right when I'm set to plunge into the world of casual dating here in Portland, with Grams finally giving her consent-he'd show up to throw a wrench into my plans._

 _Months had passed since I'd last seen him. I wasn't sure what he was doing in town, except the files he was busy with were marked with legal mumbo-jumbo. I remembered he'd interned at a local firm before and if recent talk at the Parker family dinner table could be believed, he was laying down foundation to move back home in the next year. Maybe this was all his way of putting in his time at that same firm._

 _If it was, though, baby-sitting a one-year old while he was doing this probably hadn't been part of the plan._

 _"You don't have to stay," he said after a few minutes of him filing papers into several files, poring over a few random ones. "Believe it or not, I know my way around a diaper change and baby bottles."_

 _Katie was tugging my hair and trying to eat it, and when I tried to pull away, her little chubby fingers turned adamant. I looked over at Mal. "Okay. Tell her that."_

 _"Riiight." Mal grinned back. "So I guess it's dinner for three, then."_

 _He said it easily enough, almost like he didn't mind. But I hesitated, wondering if maybe I was imposing. Maybe he wanted bonding time with his nephew, or just didn't want me around because it'd be awkward. Even though two years had passed since that awesome day at the mall when he'd brushed my crush on him off his shoulder like so much lint, sometimes it still felt like yesterday._

 _I'd given it a lot of effort, growing past the childhood obsession._

 _"No," I said quickly. "I don't need dinner. Poker night at Grams; lots of food waiting for me at home."_

 _He didn't answer, just slipped a couple papers into more folders._

 _And this was really awkward, I saw. I pulled myself to my feet, was on the verge of pulling a magical excuse out of my butt, after all, so I could book it._

 _When my eyes landed on a newspaper clipping about a cold-case from the sixties. I was reaching for it, reading and committing the names to memory merely out of habit. This one, about a missing car that'd been found and a woman who'd simply disappeared off the face of the earth, grabbed my interest._

 _My eyes scanned the folders, saw the woman's last name labeled on one, and slid it in. I did it without thought, then froze, looking at Mal. Who was leaning with his back against the couch, staring at me again and this time with a hint of something like surprise in his face._

 _"Believe it or not," I said defensively, mimicking his tone from before. "I know my way around filing."_

 _"Okay, but I'm getting paid to do this. You're not." Then he grimaced. "That's a lie. I'm not getting paid to do this. The paralegal called in this week."_

 _"Sooo,_ _ **he's**_ _getting paid while you do this?" Then it all went blurting out, before I could put a filter in. "This is local stuff. Do you already work here?"_

 _"Let's just say I'm pinch-hitting for now." He scooted closer, pointing to the trays. "To be filed. TBF. Lots of junk to wade through with the occasional random urgent document that at some point will need to be used during litigation."_

 _"It doesn't look like anyone's gone through these in a while."_

 _"And she's on the nose. Again." His voice was a little frustrated. "This firm's not exactly getting a lot of calls these days. Clients know who gets results."_

 _"Why are you working for them?"_

 _He smiled at me. "It's more fun plugging the hole in a sinking ship and taking over the wheel, than joining one that's been floating for a while with too many captains already on the bridge."_

 _I pondered that. "You like challenges."_

 _"Sure. Don't you?"_

 _Without waiting for my answer, he went back to eyeing the paperwork, and I joined him since none of this was awkward anymore._

 _We worked for a while in tandem, where I was surprised how patient he seemed, the two times I got confused on where to file unlabeled forms. Before I knew it, over an hour had gone by. I chanced a look at Katie. She'd worn herself out on the jumperoo and was sleep-drooling on the soft fabric beneath her chin._

 _I laughed softly, getting to my feet and took a picture of her on my phone, sending a quick text to Ro._

 _When I resumed my spot on the floor, Mal once more was watching me, intently now, and the uncomfortable sense of intruding on his time came back. I had no idea what he was thinking, but because I hated the sense of defensiveness creeping up, I crossed my arms and asked, "Did she need a snack or a diaper change?"_

 _"Why, are you offering to take over my baby-sitting chores? You've been so handy with my legal ones."_

 _I had no idea why he was being a jerk suddenly, but there wasn't any reason to stay there and take it, so I got to my feet, muttering about leaving._

 _The door swung open._

 _Ro came in, shaking off water from some of her bags she was carrying. A stray shower had hit, which meant my walk home was going to be swell._

 _She greeted Mal with a profuse thanks for the last minute save on baby-sitting. As I suspected, he'd gotten saddled with it after his other siblings all bailed. I was indulging in a spiteful moment of gladness that his royal highness was forced into diaper duty-not that I myself saw it as terrible, not with Katie especially since she was so cute. But Mal probably thought he had better things to do._

 _Ro turned to me. "Hey, B. I was pulling onto the street when you texted Katie's pic. Now I have new wallpaper!"_

 _I could only give a forced smile back, while I made my way to the door, aware of the puzzled look that crossed her face as she glanced between me and Mal._

 _"B.B. showed up looking for Lu," he said quickly, then tossed his sister a smiling eye roll. "Is how I got stuck baby-sitting for two munchkins on this rainy Saturday night."_

 _Wow. Okay._

 _For a moment, it hurt to look at the papers and files on the floor, and think about the time I'd just spent having a decent conversation with him. And there I'd thought we were keeping each other company. But no._

 _"Don't worry," I told him sweetly. "I'll give Grams a good report on my nanny. Wouldn't want you to miss out on any more pay."_

 _Then I ran._

 _"It's drizzling, B!" I heard Ro calling, while I essentially flew through the front door. "It'll get heavier!"_

 _"I'll be fine!" I replied over my shoulder._

 _"You need a ride!"_

 _What I really needed was something heavy, to whack Mal over the head with._

 _True to Ro's warning, the rain did start growing steadier, but it was still bearable. I wasn't soaked to the bone, but the night air was cool so I_ _ **was**_ _shivering. It was only another ten minutes to my Grams' house, though, so I gritted my teeth and ducked my head, wrapping my arms around myself._

 _A few cars passed me by; the first couple, I almost ducked into bushes trying to avoid them, afraid Ro or worse, Mal, would show up, trying to give me a ride._

 _When I turned the corner, I heard the roar of a motorcycle from behind. It slowed, died down, and then a dark figure pulled up alongside me, coasting. I shied away, then did a double take._

 _Mal eyed me blankly from his perch on the humming bike, before he tossed his head to the back seat. "Come on."_

 _"Hell no. I'm safer walking."_

 _"B.B." He drew the bike further up, almost in my way, then offered me a helmet. "Get on, it's gonna start pouring."_

 _"No."_

 _He parked it, stood and in one fluid motion, bodily lifted me onto the seat behind him, then slid the helmet over my head. Through the open visor, I saw his grim look as he buckled the straps under my chin._

 _I was appalled, and then surprised because the seat was comfortable, if slightly wet. There was enough space, I figured, that I wouldn't need to be pressed up against him. And he was right-the rain had started thickening. I happened to catch his eyes._

 _It's dark but the street light was enough that I could see how black they were, his pupils eating away the gray. His jaw was tight, like he was fighting with himself. He really didn't want to be here. The thought made me ill, turning my face warm from humiliation._

 _"Hold on tight," he said, in a voice that I was pretty sure I'd never heard yet from him. Super deep and pitched lower than his usual tone._

 _Fine. He was pissed. It made no sense, because I sure as hell hadn't taken any cheap shots at him tonight. At least, none that weren't purely out of defense._

 _"Why are you doing this?" I asked in a frustrated whisper._

 _"Because you need to get home," he explained patiently._

 _"You could've used Ro's car."_

 _He ignored that, resuming his seat, throwing me a sideways glare, before looking at my hands pointedly._

 _I stubbornly kept them at my side._

 _"Bonnie," he said, jolting me._

 _Nobody ever called me that._

 _"You need to grab on to me so you don't fall."_

 _No, I needed to keep the hell away from him I could stay afloat. I was at risk of drowning again. But I couldn't exactly say that. When I failed to move, he sighed deeply, turning, his two hands bringing mine around his waist. On my own, I scooted up for better purchase, my front flush against his back._

 _And I slowly felt like dying. By fire-on my cheeks, and neck, and arms. Even my breasts were hot, and definitely there was some kind of inferno raging in the 'V that formed between my legs, right where I was pressed against his pants._

 _His entire body was hard; his back, his abdomen; his thighs. All his parts against mine, in direct contrast to my jellified state. It was embarrassing, almost demeaning, and instead of indulging in the feel of him-Mal Parker, up close and personal, after seven years of forbidden fantasies-I was ticked._

 _Royally._

 _The ride was quick. Through the downpour, I didn't enjoy wind caressing my hair, or any particular rush of freedom from the thrill of hitting the open road on what was basically death on wheels. Why the hell was he getting around in a damn bike? I imagined him on it, riding across the country, weaving haphazardly between lanes and semis, and my anger spiked irrationally._

 _When we pulled up to my grandmother's, we were both drenched. I was so busy working myself into a rage I barely noticed that he was trying his damn best to keep his eyes above my neck. And again, like a petty brat, I hoped with violence that as cold as I was, my nipples were rock hard and jutting out, pointing at him with all the accusation that I couldn't give voice to. I burned with the need to make him as uncomfortable as I was._

 _"Next time," I said through my biting smile. "Just tell me to get lost."_

 _"Next time, you could just say, 'thanks for the lift.'"_

 _"Oh, right," I said brightly. "Excuse me. How rude. Thanks for forcing me onto your vehicle of impending death and dismemberment. Good luck with that, by the way."_

 _And spun, leaving him in the pouring rain while I ran to the house before I succumbed to the urge to kick him and his dumb bike._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Enjoy!

 **Chapter V**

Before long the massive yard is a mess, slush and snow and streaks of mud everywhere, including on us. None of us had even bothered with changing but the majority of us were in our ugly Joss sweaters. She's the only one taking issue with it.

"If you unravel the thread, don't come to me crying!" she yells from her place on the porch, bouncing baby Shay in her arms. "I'm not fixing it!"

Lu gets me back, twice, elbowing me right in my eye on the second shot, taking advantage of how distracted I am by the newest arrival onto the team. It's like they plotted it, the pair of jerks. B.B. in particular isn't afraid to fight dirty. Just on the last play she'd tucked snow under the waistband of my jeans, and Jesus-I don't even know what throws me more, how cold the damn snow was falling into my ass or that B.B.'s fingers had strayed so near my nether regions.

On the next play, my dad takes point and tosses to Garrett, who makes a good show but then falls on his ass when Livvie trips him. Not only is this no longer touch football, but apparently nobody's honoring any set of codes anymore. I'm pretty sure Livvie's not even playing on either side, but just for herself, tackling out anyone she can just on a whim.

Meanwhile I can't shake the new shadow on my back but it's fine. Really more than fine. My arms and legs regularly tangle with B.B.'s. I'm not complaining. Everyone's a receiver. It's pretty damn adorable, the next moment, watching her arms flail trying to catch a throw that's clearly wide...before I realize she's just distracting me so that Ro can pluck the ball from the air.

My sister runs clear to the other side, away from us. I take off on a sprint, trying to reach her. And promptly trip over someone's legs sticking out to block me.

We land in a heap off the side of the yard. There's elbows and knees, which I expect, and they're bony, but then smack dab in the middle of it, I encounter soft curves. Pressing against my harder parts as B.B tries to wiggle free. That just makes it all worse.

I clench my teeth as I glare down at her sweaty face. In different circumstances, I wouldn't mind this position. Not at all.

Her knees bump my groin, and my eyes start to cross while I bite back a painful groan.

"Sorry!" she says, while sounding nothing like it whatsoever.

Happens to me a lot, where I get exactly what I want and it's the shittiest thing ever.

In an effort to get her off me sooner, I keep my hands away so she doesn't think I'm trying to cop a feel. I don't relish those knees finding my sensitive parts again. But she's clumsy trying to push me away, and I'm incapable of moving much, my balls still recovering. In her thwarted efforts to free herself, she's pretty much still rubbing all over me.

And snow is everywhere. Our clothes, our hands and faces-her hair. Tiny little flurries speckling her skin, pure white disappearing into gold, and the contrast is fetching. I can't keep from gazing at her.

"What?" she demands.

"You have-I see-there's-" I swallow down my failure to speak, using my fingers to brush the snowflakes at the edge of her lashes.

Her breath hits my hand, warm and moist and my eye twitches thinking if I was just a centimeter lower, I can touch her lips with my index finger. It looks soft, smooth, plump, ready for plundering.

Why is this happening now?

I remember that day back when she left for college, and I'd come home. How she stopped herself from running into my arms. I did too good a job teaching her a lesson all those years ago.

So good, she ran to my brother. And clearly, a taste of B.B. is enough to turn a gay man bi.

"I can't breathe," she's saying tonelessly, staring past my shoulders. Now no longer squirming to get out from underneath me.

 _It's only fair,_ I almost tell her, because I forget to take in air when I'm around her.

I manage to roll off, lying next to her on the snow. Around us, the others are huddled; they've forgotten me and B.B. Livvie looks like she's taken over as captain, and a couple of my nephews and nieces old enough to play, along with younger guests of my parents, are rallied around her.

"Look, B.B.," I point with a careless hand. "You joining got all the other peanuts into the game. How's it feel, being such an inspiration?"

She takes awhile to answer. I stare over at her, see her arms and legs shuffling up and down in a pattern against the ground, then I smile and follow suit. The snow had built up enough for us to draw angels.

When we stand, I try to help her up but she ignores my hand, and instead bends over to my section of the snow, drawing pronounced horns on two points over my angel's head.

It draws my first genial laugh of the night, unexpected guffaws ringing in the air.

She's irked for sure, but then she's also fighting a smile. I keep laughing, my eyes traveling over the wool cap that's askew on her head, the riotous mess of hair that's now damp and trailing down her back. Dirt and snow fighting for prominence on her jacket and clothes. She's a mess, and a sight for sore eyes.

"I missed you," I tell her.

She starts trudging back to the others, not bothering with an answer.

"Did you miss me?" I tease. "Even a little?"

She stops. The next play's starting without us.

Her glance keeps roaming while she stuffs her hands inside her jacket pockets.

"Sure I missed you guys," she says. "Why do you think I made it back for this?"

Lumping me in with everyone. Yep, smart cookie, my girl, only she wasn't mine. Maybe once, I could've claimed that, a long time ago when it would've made me a creep. Now that age wasn't a problem, naturally there was nothing left for me to salvage.

"You're gonna need something cold," she says while I try to scrounge for a harmless conversation to break this new ice between us.

"No shit," I mutter.

We make it back to the porch, signaling to the others our exit from the game, but there's no shortage of people to take our spots. My parents do likewise, joining us on the porch. Dad in particular is short of breath, his face ruddy from exertion and his eyes taking on that gleam of exhaustion. He's overdone it.

My mom and Sheila are hovering, both of them pushing him to go inside and rest.

Behind them, I catch B.B. subtly pushing one of the porch chairs near and somehow, my dad's managed to sit.

Her way works a lot better.

A second later, Dad has a bottle of water in hand, and he's sipping it quietly, speaking to B.B. I'm on my way to join them when Joss waylays me.

"You!" she charges, inspecting me-no, not me. The turkey sweater.

There's a huge frayed thread at the bottom. The tiny repressed sound of rage issuing from her throat makes her husband look up from the play. I shake my head at him.

"What did you do?" Joss demands, but Sheila cuts her off, squinting her eyes at the hem of my sweater.

"You can mend it," she says mildly. "It's not hopeless."

"I have my kit," Joss instantly replies. "But I have my hands full right now."

My mom flutters a hand. "B.B. She learned to mend. Be a dear, would you?"

B.B.'s head whips up, alarm registering in those expressive eyes of hers.

I'm trying to bite back on my glee, hiding it behind a casual nod to Joss. "Is your kit the one in your room, in that ugly flower bag?"

"Yeah." She frowns. "No, I mean, it's not ugly. Get bent, Mal. Please fix it," she adds in a plea to the younger woman now standing beside us, her wool cap threatening to topple off her head the harder she shakes it.

"I'm not really good at-"

I pull B.B. along inside the house, effectively ending her protest. Maybe, just maybe, I could've made my own life easier trying this years ago. And there wouldn't be such a gap now, between who I am versus what she thinks of me.

-x-O-x-

I'm being dragged through the house, Mal's grip on my hand firm, but there's a bunch of people in every room and while he's impatient, even he knows it'd be rude to ignore everyone. Someone stops us-one of the neighbors-and it gives me a chance to duck inside the kitchen.

I'm in there all of five seconds when Mal bursts through the door, determined and a little relieved to find that I hadn't tried to ditch him completely, I think.

"What're you-"

"Ice," I cut him off, annoyed by his behavior. "For your face."

The bruise there's getting angrier. A part of me wants to pat Lu on the back for getting his revenge, and then another portion's growing larger and louder and more insistent, urging me to find a quiet corner and crawls into Mal's lap to tend to him. It's a little pathetic and a lot more alarming, just how quickly I digress into old thoughts that resemble bad habits.

Now I'm no longer enjoying myself. I'm not sure why, in the weeks leading up to this visit, I hadn't considered how seeing Mal again would affect me. Was it too many episodes of Sex and the City that Caro had shoved down my mouth? It's not as if I'm living it up like any of those women on television. There wasn't anything glamorous about my day to day in New York. A lot of it was commuting on the train, keeping my head above water at work, and then trying not to succumb to poor eating habits while on a budget in a city where a single meal out could cost upwards of fifty bucks.

And I'd had too little time to meet new guys. Jessie was my last night of fun that led to several weeks of awkward encounters, which then devolved rapidly into boring make out sessions on his beer stained couch, in the upper East Side apartment he shared with a few pretentious Wall Street wanna-bes. I lost interest once I saw how quick he was to shed the tiny remnants of good ol' Southern boy that had originally drawn me to him, once he was around his roommates. He tried too hard, just to get into their club that to me embodied nothing but a group of men who seemed to approve of Bernie Madoff's approach to building personal wealth.

There's a lot about New York I like-almost as much as there is I hate. And Livvie wasn't wrong.

It never has felt like home. But that's the draw, for me.

My thoughts are raging, even while I resume following Mal through the house. We're almost on the second floor when I spot Emma. Someone like her with beautiful manners must know something about being a seamstress. Mal's still tugging me along when I resist once more, waving to the woman with my other hand.

He's cursing, seeing what I'm doing.

"Hang on," I say.

"No," he replies, voice dark, before he grabs my waist in his large warm hands and hauls me up the stairs the rest of the way, into his sister's room.

We're not in there long. I barely have time to take in the boxes and overflow of what appeared to be unused arts and crafts supplies, before he's picked up a black bag overflowing with bright pansies on its surface.

Then he's dragging me across several doors, and not so gently pushing me inside another room.

Oh, God.

His own. His old bedroom, that didn't look all that different from years back. I'd spent a lot more time in Lu and Livvie's rooms, but this one I'd caught enough glimpses of. Even the Nirvana and Weezer posters were still up, only their corners visible behind bookcases that had been placed against the main wall.

"Any particular reason why you were trying to flag her attention?" he asks casually, divesting himself of his sweater without any formalities. I sigh in relief that he's got a plain white tee underneath until I realize that it's tight. And ho, boy. Hello, bulging veins and hairy forearms and worse, miles of hard abdominal ridges across a blank white canvas of cotton.

I'm not ready.

I can't do this.

There's a high probability that this is not going to end well, but the ice in my hand pushes me in the right direction. The mask settles over me while he sits on the bed, the dim light he's turned on touching corners of the room and our faces.

He's not looking at me but the sweater, taking things out of the bag in the meanwhile and frowning while he tries to make sense of darning needles and yarn.

Ludicrous, the sight of it. It brings me back to myself. I shed my discomfort, leave it on the floor and join him on the bed, smacking the ice against his brow while I yank the knitting items away from him.

"I was trying to get some other woman who would know better than me how to do this," I say calmly, my own brow furrowing as I take up the needles and the sweater, and pool through the needle's loops what I hope is the yarn from the frayed edge of the turkey's foot.

In seconds, I've only managed to destroy more of the sweater.

"Hmmph," he grunts, his voice close beside my head. "Well, there goes the turkey leg."

I ignore him, my fingers working faster, bent on destroying.

Soon, Mal's sweater has become a long-sleeved belly shirt, and there's a puddle of yarn on my lap, mostly bright red and accusing.

I look at him, finally, just a little mournfully.

He starts laughing.

"Why'd you pick me to do this?" I seethe. "My Grams was right there, she's like the champion knitter! Could've fixed it in seconds!"

"Thought we should catch up."

"And we couldn't do that downstairs?"

"Without any distractions." He flashes me that Mal grin, cocky and irreverent. "Call me greedy, but I think I'm entitled to some undivided attention from you. It's been, what, almost a decade since you last gave me that?"

No, it's not at all awkward, him bringing up the elephant in the room that's grown gray and deaf and blind over the years. Until today, it'd been a long time since anyone had even mentioned my old crush. Now I'm bombarded with it.

He shifts on the bed, laying back on the foot of it, stretching and resting his folded arms behind his head. I'm sure he's aware of the effect that has on his biceps and triceps and freaking forceps. Good Lord, his muscles are enormous-really, it's almost terrifying, and I inch away because his body is warm and there are parts of me tingling in response to the heat and the sight of him.

But because he's being an ass, contrary to my own need for escape, I kick off my shoes and make myself comfortable.

He doesn't need to know that my heart's racing or my palms are sweaty.

I'm glad I'm wearing thick tights under my tunic dress, but wishing I had on less layers. Would it be sending the wrong message if I took off the thin cardigan I'd thrown over my tunic? But then, he had no problem shrugging off his own turkey sweater.

I peel it off, folding it carefully across my lap while he watches me.

"How's New York, B.B?"

"Okay."

"See, I was expecting a more exciting response. Since you've stayed there all these years, figured I'd get at least a 'super' or 'great'..."

What's he expecting from me? I say nothing, taking on a bored look.

"'Okay?' Leaves a lot to be desired."

I hate when he talks to me like I'm still ten years old.

"Lots of people, piss, and places I can't afford to go." I shrug. "I get by. So does Lu. It _is_ okay."

"Put like that, I can't imagine how hard it must've been tearing yourself away to spare a visit here."

I scoff. "Ya know, my phone doesn't burn up with calls when I'm home. Nobody here is ever on the other end of the line telling me they can't get through the day without hearing my voice. Not even Grams. So I know it's not that you're all craving me back."

He shoots up, then, and is in my face so quick I can only blink in response.

"You sound miserable, B. If that's the case, why are you still there?"

I don't hesitate.

"When I get comfortable, I get sloppy. Complacent. Let people walk all over me. New York keeps people sharp."

He's quiet, watching me closely.

"I like the edges. Nobody gets too close because then they see," I look sideways, knowing right now my confession makes him feel like a target, "if they handle me wrong, I can hurt them back."

It's the most that I've ever shared of myself with anyone outside of Grams and Lu, possibly even Caro. For sure, I've never bared anything to Mal this way, and I have no idea why I've just done it, except the look in his eyes is dangerous right now. I can either be honest, or run.

He's not giving me the impression that I can just get up and go.

"I'm speaking figuratively," I continue, a little more sedately. "But, yeah, I do still carry a Swiss army knife around in my purse along with spray mace."

"And do you also sleep with a carving knife under your pillow?"

"A machete," I reply without missing a beat. "That I won on eBay."

He smiles then, and the tightness in my gut grows warm. I don't like-at all-how he's staring at me.

A decade ago, I had dreams where the same expression was on his face. But in those dreams, what usually followed were sweet kisses and hugs and feelings of safety. I mean, look. I've done plenty of self-reflection like any other person. Divorced parents, a distant father. A couple years ago, I convinced myself that Mal represented the daddy figure for me, but since he shares no qualities whatsoever with my Dad, I've since abandoned that theory.

Not to mention, I'm well aware that my father's personality flaws didn't mean he didn't love me. And anyway, if I was the type to try therapy, they'd probably tell me I had much larger mommy issues.

"I don't have a daddy fixation," I blurt out.

Now he's blinking, probably wondering if he heard that right.

"Good for you?" he says hesitantly.

"Just to clear the air," I say, shoving him backwards on the bed while I get to my knees in excitement, feeling the buzz of adrenaline in my veins. Now that I'm here, facing this man in his bedroom for crying out loud, I might as well be brave.

"I liked you in the beginning because you helped move my grandmother's things inside her home, and some of mine. And didn't stop until it was all done. You even carried my bear that fell out of the bag. Lu made fun of me, but you picked it up, gave it to me, and said nothing. Later, I kept liking you because you were mysterious and then, you know," I pause again, waving impatiently to his general face and body. "That helped."

He's biting his lip now, nodding thoughtfully.

"I never looked at you and saw my dad. Because ew. And if you think about it, if I have any thick emotional scars over my childhood, they're the ones about my mom leaving the family." I'm still running on a high, my hands rubbing absently on my leg. "If anything, I should've turned lesbian. And got together with a cougar."

Mal covers his mouth with a hand, his fingers stroking his stubble. There's a suspicious dimple in the corner of his cheek behind his fingers that I ignore.

We say nothing, just study each other, and I feel-oh, my God-I feel great. It's unfuckingbelievable, how this conversation has just eased some of the Mal-shaped baggage that I'd been carrying.

"And now you know," I finish. "Where I was coming from. Glad it's all behind me."

"Great, great. Thanks for sharing. Think we needed that. Fresh start, right?"

My grin's infectious because soon he's not bothering to hide his.

"Well," he says. "Good talk?"

"Super!"

"See?" He nudges my feet, encased in tights, skittering his fingertips playfully down on my soles. "Now that's the kind of excitement I like to hear."

He knows I'm ticklish, everyone does, and keeps my foot in his grip while a laugh bubbles up from my mouth. Soon, he's got both feet, and it's merciless, his tickling. I get a little desperate, and then my legs jerk hard, my right foot lands on bone, jarring my heel.

Mal groans, rubbing the brow that he'd just finished applying ice to, when we first got to his room.

"Sorry!" I manage, scooting up and leaning over him. He's rubbing the side of his head, and I gingerly move his fingers out. His eye is red, a little teary, and there's fresh pink along his brow that's already turning mottled from Lu's elbow earlier.

"I'm fine," he says, but I take the ice pack and press it firmly against his brow.

Silent minutes pass where I'm mostly occupied by pity for the guy, wondering if Mal tackling Lu in the first place means he really deserves all the retribution he's now accrued. Then I ponder how the game is going, and if the redheaded guy on the porch is still watching. Briefly, it crosses my mind how he managed to gain entry to the party. He's someone's plus one, is my first thought, except I don't know who he would've come with.

I'm busy unraveling my thoughts. I need a way to extricate myself from Lu's plotting, or at least convince him to drop the act. For sure, the Prince Harry lookalike probably hasn't taken a shining to me. Then there's the issue of Mal and his bizarre reaction to all of this.

I still peg it as stress. Too many changes in his life, maybe. Too many burdens?

I don't know how me and Lu coming across as a couple can strike him as a burden, though.

My meandering brain eventually leads me to study the man before me, which I think I've been trying to avoid, given how close he and I are to each other. Hands down the nearest we've ever gotten. I'm almost in his lap, our body heat is mingling, and so is our breaths.

Mal's staring again, is my next absent thought, as I'm pulling the ice pack away from his brow. "All this because you couldn't play by the rules," I mumble.

"Beg to differ. You have no idea how long I've been trying to behave."

I fumble, the ice pack nearly dropping from my hands.

"How's that?" I ask, aiming for cool and now trying to inch away.

"Better, thanks," he replies.

His voice is deep and low and the timbre of it has me flushing. When he tilts his head just slightly to the right and lands on me, brushing my lips with his, I'm still open-eyed, not sure if I've crossed into some Twilight Zone here.

He's there, and then not, his mouth sliding gently across once more, and then pulling away again.

My breath comes out in a shocked gasp.

In the next moment, his mouth is hot, urgent as it trails down my jaw, muffling his groans against my skin.

Oh, God.

I arch into him, fitting him like a glove while he's suckling away on that sensitive spot between my neck and my ear, making me shiver.

"Mal-"

"Sorry." He's dazed, leaning away, but his hand's on my waist, clutching it tight.

I'm light headed; I have no idea what my name is.

My fingers find his jaw, but I'm still confused, and so is he. We lean in again, our mouths meeting, and this time I'm fully participating, pulling on his lips as much as he is on mine. I can't get close enough to him, and he's the same-we're trying to fuse our faces together, and hands are-well, everywhere. Mine under his shirt, on his abdomen and back and along those damn arms; his over my ass, then roaming up around my sides towards the swell of my breasts, before they drift back to my face and caress my cheek. His fingers thread through my hair, tugging a little, baring more of my neck to him.

It's quiet but for the rustle of clothes and panting. I don't know how long we're there, groping, rubbing, mouths hungry, our movements frantic with long suppressed need.

Years of it, on my part.

But too soon we break away, breathless, eyeing each other in shock.

"Sorry," he repeats, stepping back completely, nodding to himself while he touches his mouth, perplexed.

Then he's out the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:  
**

Okay, guys. Aiming for 2-3 chapters/week so I can get this finished. I'm working on the others on the side. January, back to normal with the Charade and Bound. And thank you so much for the feedback. Even with the POV switch to first-person and the name changes, thanks for bearing it out, this little experiment. I am hooked on writing this fic to completion, so...hang on for the ride!

 **Chapter VI**

"But if Wanda has the necklace, then I want her car."

"Those are her toys, Jake," Garrett's explaining with a nervous smile in place, to combat the scowl of a mutinous four year old boy. "You can't just take them. Santa will get mad."

"Santa said I could."

"You don't say?"

Big, sober eyes stare into our faces with earnestness. "He's giving me Wanda's car. Santa called and said so."

My nephew will make a decent associate at my firm, in roughly two or three decades. He's got that conviction, you know? Beside me, John's giving his son a skeptical look, but Garrett shrugs, whips out his phone, and mutters, "Hey, sounds legit, bro. Give him the car."

John shakes his head.

"Santa's orders," I point out. "Anyway, I doubt Wanda..." I look over at my two-year-old niece. A moment ago, the car had been in her mouth, gathering spit. It's since been replaced with her necklace, the car now lying forgotten in the cup holder of her sleek stroller. "...will miss it."

"Are you stupid?" John mumbles. "Do you like your ears? Because you take that car, you can say goodbye to them."

We're at the quaint little shopping plaza in the neighborhood that John and his family now call home. It's not far from my office, but I wouldn't have made it if I hadn't finished up in record time with work, and then found myself in dire need of a distraction.

Mom and dad are tagging along, also, for no reason other than mom's been on a kick not to miss any chance for a get together with any and all of us. She doesn't say it, but I'm sure she's keeping a running tally of 'finals' for my dad, a lot of them going over his head. Who wants to really relish their last anything? It's morbid, and a little funny, if you ask me, because if I was the one in charge-I'd add a couple of questionable things on there. Like, my last public piss or final animated exchange with state patrol or something stupid like that.

If you're dying anyway, why not make it memorable?

But we're here. Somehow, the two women have managed their escape, leaving men folk to keep the kids company while they shoulder their way through weekend shoppers, on the hunt for extended Black Friday bargains. There's a thing called online shopping which I'm sure they're familiar with, but my dad, my brothers, and me all keep mum.

I don't do this, normally. The weekend after Thanksgiving I'm typically back in the office, the only one taking advantage of the peace and quiet, catching up to avoid getting behind the next week. But before noon, I was out of work. I don't know if I'm just moving at the speed of light or my colleagues have been kind, leaving me with little clean-up or follow up on pending cases.

I try to ignore the seed of doubt, the third alternative that explains how quickly my time at the office passed.

Maybe I didn't even do any of the work right, since my mind's been in state of fog since Thursday night.

I'm fucked, has been pretty much my one consistent thought.

There's a congregation of people around us, gathering to watch the hourly light show with the holiday orchestra blasting from the speakers. There's kids running around, a few couples here and there. The grouping of large Christmas trees in the center of the polished plaza is trussed up with bright lights, ribbons, and bows. I guess I'm supposed to feel the holiday spirit, but I don't the dying trees aren't giving off enough of that pine smell, and there's commercial chain stores surrounding us on all sides.

I know I felt more a little more festive two days ago, back at my parents' house, until just before I dragged B.B. into my room...

 _I stumbled outside, shouldering past a few guests but luckily, nobody from my family was among them. There was an empty place on the porch, quiet and lonely, perfect for my state of mind just then._

 _Who knew how long I sat there, blank faced, blank brained, my hands growing numb. My pants pockets weren't doing it; I couldn't risk hypothermia since I needed to my fingers to write out lengthy case notes and type out deposition files. I needed to go back inside-_

 _And maybe find B.B. again, or maybe keep running the other way._

 _I had a taste of paradise minutes ago, and I couldn't have it again. That was the first coherent thought that registered, past the cold seeping into my system._

 _Or maybe I could. I don't know. Lu didn't seem too worried, letting his girl go off with a man that she'd been hung up on for years._

 _Lu was younger, though, an entire world at his fingertips that he could more easily explore. Unfettered; no years of obligation to a job, a house. Whatever was going on with B.B. and him, he could swing finding another woman, too, right? Or go back to men. Whatever. The point was, the better part of their history was based on friendship. And in my not so humble opinion, that was how it needed to stay._

 _What lay between me and B.B. was mostly, until yesterday, uneasiness; over the years, I'd add unfinished business to the mix also. I'd never fully stopped to delve into why I felt that, except maybe it bugged me, sometimes, how the girl who used to track me with so much innocent longing on her face had grown up and gone on an extended leave. Never to return. Replaced by an older creature with a knack for taking me out of my comfort zone in a different way._

 _It was a see-saw: at some point, a power shift came along without me realizing._

 _Now at twenty-three, nothing about her was young or naive, and I could barely remember why the hell I ever felt the need to push her away. It could've all gone differently; letting her down a little more smoothly, way back when, so that we ended up friends, like her and Lu._

 _Lost time, was what faced me. I was a slave to it, and there, sitting on the porch letting hypothermia creep up on my fingers, I was numb in a way that had nothing to do with temperature._

 _A small part of me stayed buoyant, based on one thing. Technically, B.B. chose me first. And it would be the height of inconsiderate, giving her the idea she had to settle for less than what she wanted. Clearly, based on what happened in my bedroom, what she still wanted was me._

 _I'm thrilled. Flummoxed. Still hazy from the thought of it and the memory of her in my arms. It would've been lying if I said I hadn't spent most of the day imagining it, since I first laid eyes on her trying to tame her excitement over by the appetizers._

 _Hell, the idea might have crossed my mind even before that. The last couple years, B.B. drought had caught me on occasion, sharp, overwhelming. Random. I'd never given voice to it to anyone; barely even admitted it even to myself. But today, I could be honest. It wasn't just her company I'd been missing. Those encounters years back when she'd been on the cusp of being a woman? Well, I was a man, red-blooded, and there'd been definite hazy thoughts when I felt her pressed intimately against me on that bike so long ago._

 _Jailbait thoughts._

 _I was never one for delaying gratification, but that night was a mighty example of self-control, when it came to her._

 _Which failed me a few minutes ago, in my room. There was no excuse. She was there, close, and it wasn't a moment of weakness on my part. It just hit me, hard, how much I wanted to feel her lips and touch her, and for once nothing sprang to mind about why it couldn't happen. My brother sure as hell never cropped up. Only afterwards, did I think about him. I'd made a move on his girl, when I should've been running for the hills, especially considering who it was-_

 _-but wait-_

 _I whipped my head up from the snow I've been contemplating._

 _Well, that was basically the impression I'd left, wasn't it? Fled the room, left her to it._

 _B.B. was probably having all sorts of awesome thoughts about me just then._

 _The best way out of this madness involved me going back inside, straight to my room, and finishing what I started._

 _A thought that had me grinning like a fool, snow flurries whipping my face when I shot up to follow through._

 _The door burst open._

 _My mom was there in the doorway, and I almost bypass her without a word, so consumed with the idea of finding B.B. Someone behind her blocked my way. The other woman-I was at a complete loss with her name-but the one from before that'd been cherry picked for my perusal, courtesy of my unbearable mother._

 _A creak of wood had me glance up. At the top of the stairs, there she was. B.B. stood before Jo, apologetically holding out my destroyed turkey sweater. My twin's horrified look morphed, turned resolved as she grabbed it, depositing baby Shay into B.B.'s arms, before Joss and the sweater both disappeared down the hall._

 _My mom was saying something-who knew what, since I wasn't aware of anything except gulping down the knot at the back of my throat, as B.B. met my gaze._

 _"Stay," I mouthed to her, knowing I glared with the force of my message, needing her to listen._

 _Except I really should've thought that one through. My mom was still there, as was the woman beside her, and so B.B had a fine view of my mom pushing the issue. She was there to see the other woman lobbing me pleasantries, and that common courtesy dictated I return._

 _I didn't. If it was rude, I couldn't give less of a fuck. This wasn't high school. I was a man in my late thirties. I'd just realized the woman that for the better part of five years I'd maybe been subconsciously pining over still had feelings for me._

 _I wasn't wasting any more time._

 _I didn't even know what I said to the brunette. She thought we were hitting it off. I couldn't remember her name._

 _The figure at the top of the stairs started sidling away. I threw B.B. a warning look, but she merely held Shay up, pointing to her diaper, which I guessed needed changing, and then shrugged._

 _Dammit._

 _Out of the corner of my eye, two figures approached._

 _Lu and Livvie._

 _My brother brushed past me, throwing a grin, before he scampered up the steps. Then I became the witness, to something that turned my stomach. He touched B.B. at her elbow, leaned in to whisper in her ear. There was a shared look, silent communication that I hated, and then he was grinning at her, his nose brushing the side of her face. She stayed at the top of the stairs, while he jogged back down, looking at my mom._

 _"We're gonna hit the road," my baby brother that I contemplate murdering announced._

 _Mom looked surprised. "It's early."_

 _"Did you forget the time difference?" Lu pointed out. "Don't worry, we'll be back tomorrow."_

 _Desperation fueled my next move. "I thought I said to stay," I called up to B.B._

 _It wasn't in a quiet voice, no-it was downright commanding, but I didn't care about that or the handful of people around us by the door as audience._

 _She was pissed, instantly, shifting the baby in her arms; the smile she'd worn just a moment ago gone and replaced with fury. "Stay? My ass._ _ **You**_ _couldn't run from your bedroom fast enough!"_

 _"Is there a comprehension issue?" I asked. "I can repeat it more slowly, draw out my syllables."_

 _"Nice one. Back to patronizing, I see. Well, I'm not a freshman in high school anymore, Mal."_

 _"Could've fooled me." Because I was losing my mind a little, I turned to the person standing nearest me, and it so happened to be the woman whose name I couldn't remember, but who seemed befuddled by this random dispute between me and B.B. "She seems upset to me, do you agree? Should I grab you a drink, B? But wait, let me just clarify. Do you want punch or apple cider?"_

 _Beneath her darker skin tone, I caught the deep flush on B.B.'s cheeks. I'd gone and done it now, and me without a sharp pen to stab myself in the eye with. What the fuck was wrong with me?_

 _I didn't know precisely what I wanted just then, except for the extra bodies gone, and me and her alone again in my room._

 _Why had I run in the first place?_

 _Of all people, it was my mom who intervened. And she did it in without drawing attention to the stupidity they'd just witnessed. Instead, she led the brunette woman up the stairs, murmuring something about one of Joss's quilting projects, then pulled B.B. along to join them._

 _B.B. followed, shooting me a final deadly look. In her arms, Shay smiled, goofy and toothless, making me wish we could trade places._

 _Lu and Livvie started edging away too, but I whipped my hand out, stopping Lu's progress._

 _Livvie stayed where she was also, bold and nosey, and I shot her a glare, barking, "Get lost, sis."_

 _For once, there was no insult, or smart ass reply, or anything except a knowing little smile on her face as she glanced between me and my brother. Then she skedaddled._

 _Slowly, letting my thoughts turn murderous and making sure it showed on my face, I let my full attention fall to the shorter man in front of me, currently running a hand through his California boy blond hair and grinning. I entertained a short daydream about grabbing it by the roots and painfully yanking it all off his scalp, then shoving it down his throat._

 _"You." I wasn't surprised to hear the growl in my voice. "Are going to explain."_

 _But Lu was shrugging off my hold, doing nothing to sway another impulse I had, to let my knuckles collide with his face._

 _"You don't scare me," he said._

 _"No? I can remedy that."_

 _"First of all, genius, when I said 'we're gonna hit the road,' I meant me and Livvie. B.B. came here with Grams. So, technically, she wasn't planning to leave. Second, what do you care?"_

 _And that right there had me feeling like the world's biggest idiot. I banged the heel of my palm against my forehead instead, rubbing my face, down and up, up and down, willing sanity back inside my mind._

 _Lu walked off, stepping backwards into the house, smirk in place as he saluted me with a middle finger._

 _I took a few extra minutes to cool off, regretting it shortly after, desperately wishing also that I could go back in time and break his finger off. The bastard had lied. Upstairs, I'd found the rooms empty, except for Joss and baby Shay. Lu had been there to grab B.B. and go, making their good-byes in a hurry._

 _It was better this way, was my thought that kept popping up, a familiar refrain I no longer wanted to hear..._

The shrieks take a while to register, but when they do, I'm not much use. I look down at Wanda, her tiny face scrunching up in wrath, mouth open so wide I could see her tonsils vibrating with the force of her enraged screaming.

My dad rushes back from where he'd just been window shopping at the sports shop. "What happened?" he's asking, as disturbed and useful as me. He's peering over the baby, checking if she's been hurt. She can only scream louder.

People around us either duck their heads and hurry away or slow their steps and stare, their eyes moving from her to the group of grown men around her, frozen in place. John's nowhere to be found. I have no idea where he went, but apparently he thought leaving Garrett and me in charge was a bright idea. And okay, I've been known to be handy as a pinch hitter with baby-sitting, but John's clueless that right now, my headspace has no room for this, a toddler tantrum.

"Where the hell's John?" I mutter.

Wanda's legs kick up, her screaming turning full crazy, when she hears me mention John.

"Jake had to pee," Garrett says, his face panicked. He's pulling Wanda out of the stroller, grimacing when she kicks him in several different places on his torso. "He took the car with him."

"Sneaky bastard," I grumble.

Wanda's not any happier, out of her stroller. Dad's offering her gumball he's run to one of those old-timey vending machines for, and come hurrying back with. I nix his brilliant plan. "Choking hazard, dad," I say offhand, wondering how he managed to raise eight kids into adulthood.

"Oh, yes, right," he replies, then rummages inside his pockets once more.

Wanda's drawing quite the crowd; I'm throwing them a grin, my hands up, my head shaking in a way that's saying, _'what can you do? Kids'_ but that's not flying with a few people.

One couple comes up, the woman eyeing me suspiciously.

"Is she okay?" she asks, like I'm some villain who abducted a child during the peak of holiday shopping season. My expression must morph into something resembling the monster she thinks I am, because then the man beside her, already looking uncomfortable, leads her away quickly.

Dad then pulls out a pen, fine-point no less, and Wanda eyes it strangely for a second, then my dad. I can almost see the wheels turning in her pea-sized brain.

 _Is this that thing you use to swipe on a screen with?_

She turns away from it, reaching for Garrett's phone instead, and he puts on a video.

Instantly, Wanda stops, goes still on his lap and turns wide-eyed, her chubby fingers holding the device. On the screen, I see Peter from Family Guy trying to duck turkey into a basketball hoop while Brian watches.

Wanda smiles at their antics; apparently, she's a fan. It'll do.

My brother and I are settling back into our seats, breathing a collective sigh of relief and it's just in time. Over the speakers, they announce the start of the holiday show. We're trying to get Wanda to look up and take in the lights, but she's firm.

Naturally, my dad that's stuck in the nineties and against modern technological advances is scowling at the kid that's born in the digital age. She's completely ignoring the grumpy grandpa.

"What's wrong with giving a kid a pen so she can practice writing?"

"Sharp object. She's two." I tsk, patting my dad on the shoulder awkwardly. "Get with the program, old man."

He visibly deflates, yet insists on peering closer at the screen with his frown in place. "What is she watching?"

Garrett's barely paying attention, his eyes on a tall, curvy woman in heels, throwing him a coy look as she passes by with a bag swinging off her wrist. _"Family Guy,"_ he supplies, smiling back at the woman.

Like I said, I haven't brought my A-game. So I'm not entirely ready for the fireworks that little comment sets off. Dad's leaning back, that old look of combat on his features as he glares at the screen now, then at Wanda chirping a happy laugh as Peter, Brian, and the turkey crash their car under a lake.

Peter's swimming, desperate, rushing to the passenger side.

He's saving the turkey and leaving his dog to drown.

"That show," Dad mutters to my brother. "Is everything that's wrong with the country today."

Garrett's scoffing his disdain.

I realize, this is all just a set up. Wanda was in on it.

Damn my relatives. Even the ones in diapers.

"Should I put on _King of the Hill_ , then?" my brother mocks, throwing down the gauntlet.

For the next ten minutes, with the tree lights blinking cheerfully out, fake snow sprinkling over our heads, and Trans-Siberian orchestra filling our ears-it's World War III, here at our little table.

-x-O-x-

There's a stack of essays calling my name. Thirty of them, actually, and I've been doing a great job ignoring them, but today I'll be good.

It helps that breakfast is ready, smells amazing, and that Grams hasn't jammed her day's schedule with volunteering and committees and shopping plans. She's retired yet her week is more packed than mine on a regular basis, and makes me feel lazy on closer inspection. After years of establishing herself here, she's become quite the social butterfly. A guru with her jack-of-all-trades skills. It's gotten to the point that people offer her time up like she belongs to them, and not herself.

When I was younger, I used to resent it until I realized it was good for her, this sense of feeling needed. Important.

She never really had that in Mystic Falls. I was pretty much the only one who looked at her that way.

"Well, look who decided to join the land of the living," Grams remarks with a wry smile. In short order, it turns into a frown when she sees the enormous stack of work I've brought along with me to the table.

"That can't be good," she says. "I thought you don't need to be back until Wednesday?"

"Yeah," I mumble, picking up the coffee she's already made for me. "But I'm behind on grading."

"Mmm. Somehow that didn't seem to bother you last night when you went out with Lu."

"Nope," I say around the mug, distracted by the sight of piles of bacon and the cinnamon coated raisin bread. "No regrets, especially since it was his turn to buy."

"You have to take turns?" she asks. "In my day, your grandfather paid for all the dates."

"Easy there, Grams," I tease, taking a bite out of my grandmother's breakfast, then grinning at her. "That almost sounded sexist."

"And _you_ almost sounded like you were just hanging out with a friend last night," she says, pointedly.

Which I had. First to go to our old staple the pool hall, then later so I could get wasted at a club on the north side of the city. It's a thing of Lu's. He picks up on the rare times that my brain is spazzing, for some reason or another, and then proceeds to convince me that the best medicine involves strong drinks in dark, noisy spaces with the sweaty, pushy heat of random bodies barreling into you. For a long time, I didn't believe him. Even now, I find it all questionable, but the wild half a minute of intense make-out with Mal's taken its toll.

I haven't been normal, since Thursday. And it's annoying, I feel like a lunatic, the way images of us keep cropping to mind at the most random, inconvenient times. Like now.

 _His fingers tight on my skin, leaving a burning trail for his mouth and tongue to follow..._

God. Get a grip, get a grip.

And the fact that it's now a _real_ thing? I want to pinch myself and wake up, take in the relief of finding that it all _was_ a dream. But the only way for me to confirm that is to see the man again, to check if it's uncomfortable and weird, or more than usual, at least. Because hey, it's Mal. When has it ever been _not_ uncomfortable and weird with us?

It sucks. But it's fine. Because I'm not consciously letting it rule me. I'm a big girl now. I have a life, and I'm busy.

Yep, I'm very, very busy.

"Sure, Lu's my friend," I say breezily. "We've always been, and now we go have candlelight dinners and long walks on winter nights. Friends do that, right?"

I'm trying to be coy, seeing that it's not working all that great, and hoping to God that while my grandmother with the failing eyes can somehow see through my facade, that she'll exercise one of her best personality traits-her discreetness.

"I like hoping you know what you're doing, child," she says in that skeptical tone of voice I'm so familiar with. "Heck, I'll give you credit. You've got a better track record than Abby at this age."

I'm not entirely sure that's a complement. Poor mom.

"But that's the thing about a good run," she adds. "Eventually, it has to end."

"Love the motivational speaking."

"B.B..."

"I'm not a kid," I say. "And speaking of, when were you planning to break the news to me about Mr. Parker? Or are you scared I don't fully get the concept of dying yet and I'll just regress to baby talk?"

She has that put-upon expression now, while I'm taking large, resentful bites of food. If she tells me to mind my manners right now, I might actually throw a hissy fit. Not mature, but what're you gonna do? I'm tired of trying to prove these people wrong.

"Let me guess," she said, sighing. "Mal spilled the beans." She's chuckling, shaking her head. "I should've known."

"What?" Why did she say it like that?

But she's still only shaking her head, watching me closely now. Hearing his name has taken the edge off my anger, replaced it instead with a little embarrassment. My cheeks are growing warm, dammit, and I can't undo that, so I fumble for the coffee and drink, nearly choking because it's still so hot. Which works in my favor. I can use that to explain my face turning colors.

"Getting the tree today," Grams finally says, mildly. "But there's a couple of things I need to take care of."

Oh, yay. Neutral topic change. There went that discreetness, one of the many things about her that I loved.

"I thought you could come with me-"

"Sure, I'll just run upstai -"

"No, no., not now. You finish up here, child. Don't want you spending the rest of your vacation days catching up with work." She gets up, the empty bowl of oatmeal telling me she's finished with breakfast. "I'll go run my errands first, then pick you up. Take your time with those papers."

As much as I want to argue and just go with her for some quality Grams time, she's right. Coming back to Portland for Thanksgiving's been hectic, one event after another, and topping all that off is the usual Parker craziness.

I can't get further behind with work.

There's also a sense of leisure and importance to it, how Grams makes it sound: It's okay, B.B. drop everything-do you. Have I mentioned, how much I love my grandmother? I'd kill for this woman.

So I take her at her word. Choose to be in the moment today. Yep. Sounds good to me. The most I do after breakfast is brush my teeth, wash my face, and lounge around in my pajamas, tank, and robe. Later, I'll do my hair, right now it's enough to pull it back in a messy bun.

Bonnie Bennett does a lazy morning, except in a grown up productive way.

An hour into it, the house is quiet, and I'm on a roll. I'm on the chaise, sipping on the last of my coffee, absorbing the thoughts my thirteen year olds have on the topic of imperialism, and I'm feeling damn proud because the first couple essays I rolled out to my class, they came back rough.

I've been at it only a short time, but certain things are familiar each year, and there's a sense of rolling up my sleeves in August that I get, when I buckle into the work that I've chosen. Not so much shaping minds, but helping them unfurl. It's all there, just the right touches are needed to coax them out.

Usually, by November, I start to see the effects of that.

This year, my kids are learning fast.

I'm so absorbed reading and taking notes it barely registers when Grams comes home. She's back sooner than I thought. I'm waiting for her to come in, scribbling along the margins of one paper that's got me so engrossed I don't turn my head when the door opens.

 _Give supporting details, you mention the pattern of underdevelopment in third-world countries as a result of imperialism...where? why? how?_

I pause, wondering if I should add more. I don't want to push too hard, but need to keep them engaged.

"I haven't changed any of the connectors in years," I hear my Grams say from the doorway, which finally pulls my attention.

Just in time to see a large box making its way up the path and through the door, hiding the top of a tall form. I'm standing, feeling a little unprepared for this, wondering what's come up-

When I see the pair of familiar boots attached to the legs...

No. No no no no no. No.

Just no. What the hell?

The box goes in the corner of the living room, and Mal straightens up from behind it. He's eyeing the walls for a long time, looking completely absorbed like it's his latest science project, and I'm not understanding.

What's happening here?

I look at Grams, who shrugs, just a hint of suspicion there in her gaze at me and Mal both, I think, but then it fades. She's off to another room, snapping her fingers like she's just remembered something, and Mal goes with her.

Slowly, I find my seat again, staring at the open door, thinking maybe I imagined all of that? But no, their voices carry from the cellar, and then their footsteps. When they reappear there's a familiar box in Mal's arms, that he's depositing on the floor beside the other box, before he disappears down the hallway again.

"Sure you have those extension cords?" Grams says.

"Yep," Mal says, his deep lilt placing him somewhere in the cellar once more. "Only thing I don't have are the outlets. I can pick them up."

"No," Grams calls back. "I need to go back out anyway. GCI?"

"GFCI. Indoor and outdoor."

Then she's nodding, muttering the words to herself to commit to memory, before she stops, smiling as she looks at me. "Made a dent?" she asks.

 _Yes, and so did you,_ I almost say. _In my head. With this surprise. Thanks, Grams._

"You keep on keeping on, B.B." She throws a beam at our unexpected guest, whose rejoined us in the living room once more with another box. "Ran into this one and it looks like I need to get some wiring updated this year. Be a while before we can get the tree, but at least we get a free electrician for part of the day."

"Oh," I say, hearing my voice as a faint thing, puny and pathetic. "How nice."

Yes, keep working, just lounge around flipping through papers in my current unshowered, unkempt state in front of this large male, whose hands and mouth were branding me pretty damn thoroughly just a few short days ago. Right. No possible way I'm losing any focus here.

And then- _and then_ -the worst thing of all happens.

Grams leaves.

Sideways, I look at the door through which she's gone; if I stare long enough, maybe willpower alone will bring her back. Ten seconds later, and I'm getting nothing. Nope, not a probable theory. Next best thing is to play this off, go right back to what I was doing and let him get busy with the handy work.

Which nobody asked him to do. _Why why why?_ is the question that's repeating on a loop, and the more I hear it echoing in the chambers of my disturbed mind, the higher my indignation grows.

I'm suddenly furious, mostly because it's my lazy morning and now I can't be lazy.

But because-like I keep saying to everyone-I'm no longer a child, I don't give in to my anger by throwing my enormous stack of essays at the guy.

Instead, coolly, I slide my gaze towards the boxes, eyeing them without any expression at all. He's not looking at me, either. I'm a fan of that. If we both approach this the same, we might make it through the morning unscathed.

"There's a toolbox downstairs," I offer minutes later, as pleasantly unbothered as I can, turning the last page of a six-page essay that I've just flipped through without comprehending more than maybe three or four lines. Through no fault of my student's, either.

"Thank you," he replies, in equally courteous, unruffled tones. "I'll go look for it."

"Not a problem, I'll get it for you."

Anything to get out of this room.

Seconds later, I'm down in the cellar, rummaging. The toolbox is in the corner, where it's nice and cool and dark and I contemplate spending the rest of my time here, organizing. Only-as I look around-I realize that Grams has done a bang up job retooling the cellar, which once mimicked a disaster zone.

I've dragged it out as long as I can without giving the impression that I'm hiding, so shortly, I trudge back up the stairs, leaving the toolbox on the floor because there's no way I'm handing this off to him and risking eye or physical contact.

It's when I stand and turn that the air moves, he's shifting; I cringe a bit, hoping he's not going to touch me. The air stills again.

And that's when I feel it-practically singed by it, the weight of his stare on my back, as I resume my spot on the chaise.

Lifting the mug, I take a little sip, pick up my pen, and go back to writing in the margins, making sure actual words in the English language are flowing out, instead of the gobbledygook that's currently flying through my head.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Probably the last update for the week. Thanks for the reviews, guys! And to Malachai-Bennett...hope this month that everything's picking up for you. :)

 **Chapter VII**

 _My grandmother's cellar was dusty, home to a pile of knick knacks and half-opened boxes of_ _ **stuff**_ _that over the years she'd accumulated here in Portland. I hesitated to call them junk, but as Lu stood beside me, consternation on his face while he scratched his head-I knew that's exactly what it was, to anyone else._

 _"Grams needs to watch a few episodes of Hoarders," he muttered, casting a doubtful eye around the room._

 _He'd walked over an hour ago, after I'd called in a favor. Her Christmas party was days away and while the tree and all the holiday trappings were up and ready to go, none of her lights were accounted for. Grams swore up and down they were here, that she'd tucked them away along with the other ornaments but now that I had a better idea of the state her cellar was in, I realized the chance of finding those lights was fairly low._

 _"Maybe we should just go buy her some new ones," Lu offered. "Home Depot's got them on sale."_

 _"You don't understand," I warned him. "It can't just be any lights, all right? She doesn't want regular white LEDs that fade. They have to be multi-color, and chasing, and not just chasing, but in rotating patterns..."_

 _It took me about ten minutes to properly get the idea across, that Christmas lights in this household was a big deal. Grams had owned the same sets for a decade now. The only way to replace them was to scour the internet and find the same obscure brand being offered for an obscene price._

 _Disgruntled, Lu and I set to work. We were half an hour into the search when we heard the door open. I almost called out to my grandmother in greeting when a deep voice stopped me. The world spun just a little, hearing it, since it'd been roughly three years the last time they filled my ears._

 _"Sheila?" called Mal from upstairs._

 _Lu spun, cocking his head in confusion, then moved with his laid-back grace to the cellar steps, his mouth opening to answer his brother, "Ma-"_

 _I flung myself at him, smacking his mouth with my hand and keeping it there, to shove the rest of his words back down his throat._

 _"Lmfgh?"_

 _The grip I had over his mouth was tight and violent, and I glared at Lu in warning. "Shut up!" I ordered in a whisper. I didn't let go even an inch, looking upstairs and waiting as heavy footsteps followed a meandering path around the wooden floors of first the living room, then the kitchen, and then the hallway._

 _I don't know why I was so shocked. Several of the Parkers had spare keys to my grandmother's, and vice versa, my grandmother carrying her copy of their house key on her massive chain. It was almost an open door policy between the households. But I just had never known Mal to exercise that privilege. I'd certainly never seen him just waltz in using his key before._

 _"Anyone home?" came Mal's voice again._

 _Another set of steps joined his own on the first floor._

 _"Clearly not." That one was John, sounding impatient._

 _"Sheila's car's in the drive."_

 _"Someone must've picked her up."_

 _My neighbor and one of Grams' friends, Lucy, had stopped by earlier, and Grams had thought to run errands with her and leave the car for me just in case I needed it._

 _"She wouldn't make plans today," Mal said. "Not if B.B. just got in."_

 _"So maybe they both got picked up. Why are you sweating it, man?"_

 _There was a long pause, followed by more creaking wood and the sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway. They were near the cellar door. Lu moved his head, his face exasperated as he stared down at me, pointing to my hands still nearly suffocating his mouth, and lifting his brow as if asking 'do you mind?'_

 _I didn't trust him not to call out, so I whispered, "Don't say anything to them."_

 _Prompting an exaggerated eye roll, while he shook his head._

 _Upstairs, the footsteps stopped._

 _"You're already late," John said, his tone now supremely annoyed._

 _"I pushed back my flight." Mal's voice was distracted, sounding like he was busy with something else._

 _"Are you kidding? You couldn't have mentioned that before? I skipped lunch so I could take you to the airport in time."_

 _"I'll get you something on the way."_

 _"Lunch-with my wife, asshole."_

 _"Oh. I see. Hey, I'm curious...how'd you bribe her into letting you put a ring on it?"_

 _"Really, insult the guy whose giving you a ride?"_

 _"Sorry," said Mal, sounding anything but._

 _Their footsteps receded; seconds later, I heard the muffled sound of things being placed on the dining table._

 _"What're you doing now?" John asked, moments later._

 _"See, Johnny," was Mal's patient, unruffled response. "This thing here has a screen with number buttons. You push on them, put it to your ear, and most cases, someone picks up on the other end, letting you have a long distance conversation." His voice turned awed. "It's magical."_

 _"Fuck you, Mal."_

 _"Why don't you go wait in the car?" Now Mal's voice was even lighter, and I knew it well, the tone. Everyone did. It was the 'get out of my face if you know what's best for you' lilt that always led to bouts of his bad temper._

 _"Why's it so important, giving them their presents now?"_

 _"It's not."_

 _"You'll see Sheila in a week, anyway."_

 _Again there was silence. My brain was a flurry of panic and confusion both. It was actually ridiculous, keeping me and Lu hidden down here. I was a grown woman, two years into life in New York, and also an RA, capable of handling a multitude of social complexities-at least at the dorm. Nowadays, thoughts of Mal Parker no longer even gave me that many pangs of hurt, the way they once had. It was all in the past, for crying out loud. What was wrong with me?_

 _Lu had his brows raised, looking annoyed._

 _I squared my shoulders, ready to reveal our presence._

 _Then we heard it-John, laughing._

 _"Wait a sec," he said, his guffaws loud in the hall. "I know what this is. It's B.B."_

 _"Come again?" replied Mal, in a silky voice._

 _"What's so urgent that you had to see Sheila now? Nothing. In a week, you'll be back and she'll still be here. But I know who won't be."_

 _"Shut up," Mal said curtly. "Need to leave a voicemail."_

 _Silence followed that, along with footsteps approaching the hall once more. Then moments later-_

 _"Sheila, it's Mal. I'm actually calling you from your house. Saw your car in the drive, thought you were home. But, anyway. Obviously you're not, so don't worry. I'm not gonna raid your fridge behind your back or anything. Your presents are on the table. I also have the POA paperwork you asked about. We can discuss it some more when I get back." Then there was a pause, before he added, his tone dismissive, "Give your granddaughter my regards."_

 _I was frozen at the bottom of the cellar steps._

 _Upstairs, John's laughing started up again._

 _"Smooth," he said, in between chortles, then added in a voice that turned deep, mocking his brother's. "'Give your granddaughter my regards.' Sure."_

 _"Let's go," Mal said._

 _"You can't even say her name. That picture of her Garrett showed you on her Facebook page really messed you up, huh?"_

 _"In case you haven't noticed, I'm ignoring you. Why? Because you're speaking Moron again."_

 _They were moving away from the hallway, but their voices carried clearly. I kept my gaze up towards the door, afraid they'd turn around and think to check the cellar._

 _"I came here," Mal said, "Because Sheila had questions about her legal documents and I promised to finish them before I left town."_

 _John had nothing to say to that. It sounded legitimate, especially since he'd mentioned it on his voicemail message to Grams._

 _"As far as B.B. goes," Mal continued, and there I cringed, almost ducking my head. "What's there to say? She put on her big girl pants. She's hot, dating, enjoying playing at being a grown up. Good for her. What's it matter to me?" His laugh was derisive, as their footsteps trickled out. "I'll always see her as my creepy ten-year-old stalker."_

 _The door slammed shut. I was numb at first, then livid, before familiar humiliation seeped into my veins. I couldn't even bring myself to look at Lu. If I wished for anything just then, it was to have the power to go back in time, grab myself at ten, and pour poison into her ears, aimed against Malachai Parker._

 _Lu was pissed on my behalf, too, but I begged him to leave it alone. Bringing it up to Mal would only bring me more embarrassment. What would he think, knowing that true to my stalker nature, I'd eavesdropped on his entire conversation with John, for no reason other than that I'd been too overwhelmed to meet him head-on, even at the age of twenty?_

 _I tore through boxes with supreme focus after that, and lo and behold, found my grandmother's lights. Errand done, I wasted no time sending Lu away, eager to be alone and miserable and get shit-faced. It was long overdue, I knew. It was time._

 _I needed to let him go. No way I was getting through the rest of my college life carrying that particular burden on my back, of pining for an asshole. I was done._

 _A few hours later, I was curled up in my grandmother's living room, drinking from her good wine and stuffing my face with her best cheese. When Grams returned, she found me sniffling with a box of tissues, watching one of the remakes of_ _ **Mansfield Park**_ _, which so happened to have started just in time for my epic mope. I'd never been into Jane Austen, but Caro was obsessed and I'd spent enough afternoons at her house in Mystic Falls, on marathon binges any time she was romantically down in the dumps, that now men and women in period outfits and sounding stuffy somehow felt right for wallowing._

 _"It's official," I announced to my Grams, smiling through tears. "I can't get behind this story."_

 _Grams rushed in, sitting beside me._

 _"What happened?"_

 _My hand went to the TV in exasperation. "They're cousins. Not only that, but-Fanny should've gotten Henry Crawford out of her system."_

 _"B.B." She turned down the sound, sighing deeply. "I checked my voicemail. Did Mal stop by while you were home?"_

 _"Yes. Yes, he did."_

 _"I take it somehow, you didn't run into each other."_

 _"Nope. Not at all."_

 _Then, still smiling, I grabbed the bottle of wine and took a long pull. Normally, I never told Grams much. I hated worrying her, but when it came to Mal, she'd known for too long, too well, that I was in way too deep. I never, ever had boy problems, though. Just Mal problems. It was weird, too, because I'd also never shared with her any of the details-the ups and downs-that characterized my feelings for the guy. But somehow, Grams knew._

 _That night, it all came spilling out. It took half the box of Kleenex and the entire bottle of wine, but yeah. It lasted an hour, pouring out my heartbreak._

 _I told her about the cellar, and his visit, and his wonderful flattering comments. Then I went backwards, bringing up the last couple times I'd run into him, from years back. The summer Lu and I left for college, that time he ended up giving me a ride on his stupid bike-which he'd since retired, I learned from Lu._

 _Finally, I confessed to my Grams that I knew it was all doomed since that trip to the mall, when he'd picked up the barista while he bought me cookies. Like I was his tag-along child._

 _That one finished the box of tissues and also, obliterated the last shred of patience I had with myself._

 _"I'm so pathetic," I muttered. "I could punch me."_

 _She offered me tissues, but not one word of platitudes. No 'in time, you'll move past this or 'it'll be okay' or 'he didn't mean it.'_

 _"What're you gonna do now, baby girl?"_

 _In a way, though, as I sat there curled up in the worn, comforting blanket, letting my grandmother run her hands down my hair soothingly, Mal kind of did me a favor. I remembered his words._

 _ **Playing at being a grown up.**_

 _On the screen, Fanny Price paced with agitation on a rocky pier, giving Henry Crawford the brush off._

 _I stood, throwing the covers off and moving to the box that I'd placed on my grandmother's bookshelf. "I'm going to set these up," I told her with firm resolve. "And show this block how we Bennetts do Christmas lights."_

-x-O-x-

There's a special hell that women put men through; it's called the silent treatment. I've had a taste of it before, mostly from my sisters, maybe a couple of exes also. Truthfully it's never bothered me. I can even the appreciate the extra quiet that comes with it.

Not today, though.

Right now, the woman lying on the chaise on her stomach chewing on her lip and absorbed in her work? Well, she's barricaded herself in a fort of silence and I'm there, working on the obsolete outlets in her grandmother's house, debating at what point would be appropriate to send a battering ram against it.

Stalking over there and peeling off her robe and pajamas would be another option, but somehow I doubt that'd go over well.

I'm not sure why I'm even here right now, except that running into Sheila at the grocery store and hearing her plans for the day, it hit me that the old lady whose been there for my parents and now was trying to run around getting her house set up for the holidays, could use a helping hand. And since it sounded from Sheila's description like her granddaughter was too busy to give it, I offered.

I'd had plans to get back into the office. After last night's debacle between my dad and my brother, Christmas lights blazing around our heads with Wanda bouncing happily off my brother's knees, engrossed with _Family Guy_ antics that set off what had to be the dumbest argument I've ever had to sit through between members of my family, I'm pretty sure I can stand a couple days away from anything having to do with the holiday spirit.

Yet here I am.

Sheila's house is a fifty year old ranch, and even though there's been the obvious updates done to it over time, the electrical can use some attention. Last year, Dad had been working on the update to the main panel, but since he's been sick, I don't think he's gotten around to finishing the other minor things that need to go with changing out the old system. While I'm not always the most conscientious neighbor or friend, the idea of Sheila Bennett tinkering around with Christmas lights and getting inadvertently fried by faulty wiring gets to me.

I've removed the older outlet covers, and also laid down a set of surge protectors, extension cords, and wire covers I'm anticipating will be needed for the extra lights that'll be in use. I've got a hammer, some nails, electrical tape, and toolbox B.B. brought up is more than adequate to get the work done.

Soon, I'm in the other room that if memory serves will get the next heaviest Christmas treatment. I'll only have time today and the next few days to do a handful of the rooms; down the line, after the holidays, I can convert the others.

Shedding my flannel, I wipe away some of the dust from the plaster that's now collected on my face. From the corner of my eye, I catch B.B. quickly turning her head away.

So damn uncomfortable, this thing now between us.

Would've been ideal, getting to this project before B.B. came home, but it's done. I'm here. So is she.

The work's not difficult but there are times I could use a spare set of hands. She never offers, just stays in her spot, rifling through her folder of papers. It puts me in mind, a little, of that time years ago when she helped me with my files and sends a jarring sense of disbelief, that now she's the one up to her ears in work.

I might be judging her too harshly. When Sheila said her granddaughter was busy, I'd initially wondered with what? Plans to see my brother? Shopping?

But now I'm eyeing the large stack of stapled papers and her red little Sharpie in hand. She's got a few books and manuals to complete the harried Professor look and my chest throbs, realizing how much I've missed out on B.B.'s life. I'm trying to convince myself it's a big brotherly pang, akin to something I might've felt at one point when my younger brothers and sisters all left home for college and I was here, plugging away with work and barely getting updates on their escapades except for the throwaway line from my parents on occasion.

But it's not the same. There's a possessiveness to what I'm feeling now that shouldn't be there, I know.

 _Fresh start,_ that's what I'd said in my room, two days ago. We need that.

I clear my throat, ready to try.

"Thought you were leaving today," I say, running a cord and pinning it in place along the baseboard.

It's small talk, safe, and also will let her know that I'm here precisely for what I told Sheila, and nothing else.

"Took off extra." She lifts her head up, throwing a hesitant smile. "I have a lot of time in my bank. Don't know how that happened, but they said-not so subtly-use it or lose it."

"Sounds familiar," I reply. "Think I have a month saved. Pretty sure nobody's going to push me to take any of that right now."

"Still working at the same firm?"

"Yep."

"Still plugging away at those holes on the ship?"

I laugh, surprised in a good way at how she remembers that conversation, from so long ago. "Not so much, anymore. We got better."

"I bet."

She's sitting up now; her eyes no longer so guarded as she peers out from the rim of her mug. The ends of the cord stay limp on the floor. I haven't forgotten it; I'd just rather stare at B.B. while she's willing to look me in the face for the first time since my arrival.

I've been here before-that sense of being lost, when I'm facing her, taking in the mutable hazel in her gaze, the small play of a smile at the corner of her lips. More than that, though, there's kinship in the air, something I so rarely get with anyone else. Figures, my luck, it's with her. It's happened before, and for one reason or another, it's also always been inappropriate. Inconvenient. Wrong.

Before I force myself to rip my attention away from her-it's like she reads my mind. The woman's up, averting her face again, moving into the kitchen. I hear her tinkering with the coffee. Okay. I can take a hint, and resume the work on the other cords, when I find a mug hovering near my head, smell the aroma of dark roast and cinnamon.

One of my go-to brews for the season. I'm standing, taking it from her hands, careful not to spill or graze her fingers, not sure if I'm more surprised at this peace offering of sorts or that she knows this is one of the ways I take my coffee.

But like always, lots of things about her throw me.

Like, oh, the fact that while her inner good girl couldn't help offering a refreshment while I toiled away at the wiring, there's still enough misgiving left in her to give me the hairy eyeball when I follow her to where she's sitting.

There's a devil at my shoulder now, that I can't ignore. I contemplate giving into it and sitting next to her, on that chaise that would be way too tiny to accommodate us both.

She reads it in my face.

"Don't," she warns, then for good measure, stacks three rows of essays all around her so there's no place for me to sit.

"A little passive aggressive." I stake out a spot on the sofa, settling into the comfortable cushions and take a sip of coffee while biting back a smirk. "I take it we're done pretending it didn't happen?"

"What didn't happen?" she asks, her voice dismissive as hell and her attention turned on an essay again.

 _Touché._

Like her, I don't give voice to the actual deed; that's too dangerous. Instead, I remember the flush of pink on her cheeks as stood at the stairs and took in my jibes about her choice of drinks. We could've cleared the air sooner, if I hadn't stayed true to form and taunted her into running.

"There was a better way I could've asked you to stick around," I offer, regret in my tone that I hope she can accept. "Sorry I embarrassed you."

"I'm used to it," she mutters.

It's my first real insight into how much she resentment she's carrying, the way she says that. _Why are you always such a dick to me?_ flashes back to me. Two days ago, her question had thrown me. In hindsight, remembering far too many encounters in the past where I made a point of highlighting her youth and inexperience in a negative light-now I realize, it's a valid question.

The answer is convoluted; not only will I struggle to find the right words, but she won't like hearing it.

Now's not the right time anyway.

She pulls on her robe, her hand drifting up to pull absently on a curly strand that's come loose by her ear. There's a faint Sharpie mark on the side of her cheek and what I can only describe as _'disgruntled'_ flickers over her expression, like she's pissed that I've caught her this way-tousled and unprepared-

-and more appealing than ever.

"You're still beautiful," I tell her idly. "No need to feel like you're at a disadvantage."

"I don't," she mumbles, channeling her scowling focus into turning a page.

"I might be convinced," I drawl, leaning back in my seat. "You're really into that paper, if those Sharpie marks all over it isn't screaming that it's one you've already graded."

There's blood rushing to her cheeks, obvious in how they flush just a touch from my words. Even with her skin tone, it's always been remarkable, how easily it shows when she's worked up. Slowly, she puts her paper down, then points the Sharpie my way, accusingly.

"What's up with you?" she demands. "Is it stress? Or a midlife crisis?"

And that right there has me fighting not to spew my coffee. I'm glaring, sounding partially choked as she narrows her eyes.

"I get that you're under strain and need an outlet. But being nice and calling me beautiful doesn't mean I'll fall all over myself to become your...twinkie."

Twinkie?

"I won't even dignify that with a response, B.B. Clearly, I had a few too many wineglasses and knocks to my head when I-"

"Accidentally fell on my mouth? Let's make sure that doesn't happen again."

It won't, is my firm resolve just now, but I fail to verbalize since my tongue feels scorched and also a little stuck to the roof of my mouth because in the midst of her righteous fury, her robe's slipped and tantalizing glimpses of silky caramel skin are taunting me.

It's not intentional, is the kicker.

"I said sorry," is all I can mutter, feeling much a little boy being chastised by his schoolteacher.

Aaaand that definitely doesn't help matters, because now kinky thoughts are thrumming just beneath the surface of my brain. If any of my middle school teachers had looked like her, I might not have made it to the next grade. Now that I think about it, what school administrator had the bright thought to have her teach a class full of adolescent boys? How do they even concentrate?

She's huffing, sitting cross-legged and rigidly now, her hand wielding the Sharpie poised over another essay that I'm suspecting will not be getting a friendly once over, in the mood she's in.

"Anyway, Mal, hate to burst your bubble, but you stopped being my type a long time ago."

Ow.

"In another ten years, our conversations would revolve around your arthritis and impending Medicare eligibility. Thanks, but I'll pass."

"Now you're just being ridiculous," I say, shifting in my seat as I grin back just in the nick of time to catch her eyes on me and the play of muscles on my chest and arms. I'm in the best shape of my life, physically and mentally, virile and at ease with myself. That type of confidence attracts notice, and there's no denying the looks that I've been getting from women for the last decade, which hasn't waned but picked up in intensity. It's a good thing I'm a workaholic because who knew how many tight spots I could've gotten into by now, with the landmine that was a relationship. Or even casual dating.

"No need to be petty," I tell her.

"Exactly! Especially right now," she pauses, sighing, her features loaded with concern and misgiving both. "We've known each other long enough-" then she's frowning, leaning forward to give me a sincere look now, even scooting closer and partly reaching out as if to touch me, before a stray doubt hits her and she thinks better, dropping her hand. "As much history as our families have with each other, we've never really been close. And I get why, bad on me. But now we're past that."

Are we?

"I know you haven't exactly been living it up," she continues hesitantly.

"What gives you that idea?"

She's eyeing me skeptically.

"Considering you've been gone for so long, B.B. This week's the first time we've talked in years."

"Fine," she says with resolve. "Let's change that. No matter what, Mal..."

I see where this is going; it's this other form of hell that women use on men which I've heard of but never experienced for myself until now...friend-zoned.

"I'm here for you," she says, offering a small, sad smile. "Okay?"

"Didn't realize my visit here would turn into a Hallmark special," I say, grinning to hide an unfamiliar strange tightness in my gut working its way up. There's a part of me that wants to reject it, and then another part-somewhat bigger and more vocal-that decides to just mock it, but without any malice. "Me without my tissue packet."

In the last couple years, with my siblings spread out to all corners, oblivious to Dad's health going down the drain, and Mom finding new and eccentric ways to cope with her impending loss-I'm just not accustomed to this, having someone in my face, checking in to see how I'm holding up.

"Grams didn't get into it," she confesses. "I guess it's not her place, or even mine, but if you need anything..."

"Now that you mention it, we might be able to use a spare set of hands. Last time mom got it into her head to have dad face mortality, they both ended up jumping out of a plane."

Green eyes go wide. "Sky diving?"

"They tried for weeks to pull me into it, but I took a raincheck."

"Scared?" she teased.

"Just waiting for better company to share the skies with," I say, letting my eyes linger on hers.

But she chooses to take that as part of the banter, and tosses a pillow at my face that I catch.

"So when you say you need a spare set of hands," she says dryly, bypassing the tiny heat of the moment. "You're really saying you need a baby-sitter for your mom."

"She's always liked you, I think maybe more than most her kids."

"Well, it works out, because-" she leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a playful whisper, "sometimes, I like her better than my mom."

"It's because she's thrilled you're one of two people who actually listens to her whenever she starts going on about the zodiac and our ascendants."

"Your mom's more into Shengxiao than the Western stuff," she replies. "She's not a fan of the Greek etymology, even though there's a lot of similarities."

"And now you sound like her."

Her laugh is tiny, a little sheepish. "Hello, Grams was a professor of classical studies. You don't think the subjects cross over a little?"

"I think you pored over my mom's old books a little too long when you were a kid."

"She's got a great collection," B.B. says, lifting a shoulder and sounding a little wistful. "Especially the Eastern myths and stories. How did she even get so many first editions?"

"Beats me." I nod to her. "Have at them, anytime. She won't mind. Actually, she'll probably end up joining you, and talk your ear off. Especially now, with my dad? She's drifting more and more out into space."

Her face falls a little, into that 'deep thoughts' look, emotions flickering here and there that give me insight into her state-a little guilt, compassion, and more of that resolve.

"My dad was counting down the days until you arrived." I grin at her, shaking my head. "Said he needs to find a way to keep you in town, if only so he can get some time off from her mumbo-jumbo."

That doesn't help lift her mood any. I want to switch gears now, to prevent dragging her down more. A few of hers papers have gotten knocked over after her pillow toss, giving me an excuse. I reach to pick them up, then indulge my nosiness.

"Let's see what kind of work you've been throwing at these poor eight graders," I say.

There's a moment where she seems startled. "How'd you know I teach eighth grade?'

I'm shrugging casually, but inside fighting embarrassment. Is it the right time to let her know that in little ways, I've been keeping tabs?

"Lu and Sheila mention it enough."

"Oh. Right."

She lets it go, thankfully, and I get to dive into the introduction.

"Not exactly a light topic for the holidays," I can't help saying a few minutes later, as I get further into what's actually an insightful discussion on imperialism and today's neocolonialism. "Whatever happened to 'What I Did on My Winter Break?'"

"Figure it doesn't hurt, prepping them early for the ELA test this spring."

"In other words, you found a good excuse to let out your inner slave driver. Know what? I approve."

Her laugh is surprised but pleased, although she's rolling her eyes. "I'm touched. The mighty Mal Parker, looking with favor on little ol' me."

The words are light, her smile is also, but now I'm attuned enough to this woman to catch the passing shadow that crosses her face. It's quick yet potent; the moment of camaraderie morphs back into the familiar unease that's been coloring all of our exchanges for so long. I don't like it, need it gone, and yet have no idea how to address it without fully plunging us into another round of discomfited sharing.

"When did I ever give the impression that I don't think well of you?"

She brushes my question off, standing. "I need to get ready."

I rise also. She doesn't shy away as I step closer, reaching to take her coffee mug from her. This time our fingers touch.

"You being you is one of the few things I hope never changes," I murmur, my head tilted to hers, which is bowed down towards her mug, which I'm blatantly using as an excuse to graze my hand against hers.

Hope's surging up in my chest, mingling with the urge to close the distance even more and wrap her in my arms again-when she slowly looks back up.

Nothing of what I'm feeling is reflected in her gaze.

Instead, a cynic looks back at me.

"Some things needed to change," she says with notes of mockery. "Or do you just miss having a creepy, ten-year-old stalker?"

I watch her pull away, gathering her folders and workbooks and tidying up the rest of the space. Instead of pushing it, I head to the kitchen, mulling over her comment that sounds oddly familiar. Foreboding and ill omen washes over me, in a way that makes me feel superstitious, and like I'm channeling my crazy mother.

 _Your stars aren't aligning this week, Mal,_ I can almost hear her say.

At the sink, washing the mugs, it hits me where and when I'd heard B.B.'s words before: three years ago, in this very house, in vehement denial to my brother, when he called me out for getting hot and bothered by a woman an entire generation younger than me.

In aggravation, I go to rub my face up and down, forgetting that my hands are soapy, and promptly burn my eyes. I'm doing a pretty good imitation of a potty-mouthed sailor, random expletives bouncing around the walls, when B.B. walks back in, her brows raised to the ceiling as she takes in my watery eyes.

"Are you having conflicting thoughts about getting in touch with your sensitive side?" she asks.

"Someone's full of jokes."

"It's okay to cry, Mal."

I stalk over to her, fed up. "You can't possibly think I still look at you that way."

She tilts her head, her stare automatically going past my shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Of course she knows, it's clear in how her face shuts down. Because my brain's always spinning, I take that moment to dig into how it is that B.B. could've ever heard that particular phrase, years ago, when from what I recall, there hadn't been anyone around to overhear.

"If I remember right, John was pushing my buttons that day. We were leaving the house-a house I thought was empty." I narrow my eyes down at her. "How's it happen, that you're throwing in my face the same words that technically, you weren't even around to hear? Either John's a snitch..."

She's very conspicuously no longer meeting my eyes. Because John, Lu and me-as quick as we are to throw punches at each other, get into rough and tumble wrestling matches spur of the moment, even now when we should known better...the one thing we rarely do is rat on each other. That kind of scummy has only ever come from Garrett and a few of our sisters.

"...or the house wasn't empty after all, was it?"

"Does it matter?" she asks. "You were right, I was loopy."

"Yes, you were. At ten. Although you could argue," I add, smiling down because her increasingly nervous face is starting to get to me and she'd be much better off just unclenching. "You just had good taste."

"I _developed_ good taste, once I grew out of that dumb crush."

"Really, B.B?" Now my pushiness rises to the surface, causing me to sidle another few inches nearer until I'm close enough to get a good look at how long and full her lashes are, and the specks of gold in her irises. "Not even a _tiny_ bit of it's still left?"

My finger traces her mouth, thumb rubbing gently over her bottom lip.

"Just a hint?" I ask, breath ghosting over her as I lean further in.

"Nope," she says, firm, and all that's really doing is turning those full, pink lips more tempting.

"You and I have a history of bad timing. But I'm pretty sure for the last couple years, we've wanted the same thing."

She doesn't pull away; her obvious swallow is in conjunction with the pounding under my ribs, that skip a few beats when her eyes turn dark. Air in the room grows thick and warm as we both draw closer. Her hand goes up, landing on my arm that's moving towards her hip, sliding under her robe to rest snugly on the soft, barely there fabric of her pajamas.

"I don't want anything from you," she protests, even while her voice drops to levels of throaty that I'd only heard before in my imagination, to be buried deep inside dark corners that I never let myself explore, for a long time, until this week.

"Liar."

"I like you better when you're being a dick."

That one breaks the tension just a little, in the most colorful way. I can't help chuckling.

"The word 'dick' at this specific moment is another kind of timing-good or bad, we'll find out."

She shoves me, her face a grimace now. "We _won't._ "

Normally I have good reflexes, superior even, but there's a blanket of lust and longing wrapping over me, slowing me down as I watch the woman I'm fairly sure has turned into _my_ crush, flee the room.

Karma, biting me in the ass.

I bring my fist to mouth and bite down hard from frustration. Me and my stupid need to throw glib comments in at the worst moments.

Damn, and I could've been kissing her again already.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**

After reading _keenan24's_ holycrap-this-needs-to-be-somewhere-on-cable story **Between Heaven and Disaster...** I'm in mighty need of reading other Bonkai holiday fics. Please, anyone? Maybe one swapping Enzo for Kai in season 7 and having him meet up with Bonnie at Lily's party. Please? Pleeeeeeease.

 **Chapter VIII**

I'm upstairs for over half an hour, not because it takes that long for me to shower and dress. That part is done twenty minutes in. I just take the next fifteen to dawdle in the comfort of my bedroom, away from Mal and his insanity and my own teetering descent into madness, made obvious when I walk several times to the door on the verge of calling him upstairs so we can both scratch this new itch between us.

New to him, at least. Or maybe not-based on several comments he's now made, but it's impossible to think too hard on them right now.

Each time, I pull away from the door; on the last attempt, I clamp a hand over my mouth and bang my head against the frame.

It's loud.

"You okay up there?" calls the familiar deep lilt, supremely irritating to my ears in that moment.

"Peachy!" I all but snarl back, resuming my pacing.

I'm on my second turn around the room when my phone rings. I silence it, eyeing the name on my screen doubtfully. _Jessie._ No, thanks. B.B. system currently experiencing issues. Try back later. A moment after the call drops, it buzzes, indicating a text.

 _Just thinking about that beautiful smile. Call when you get a chance._

He's been doing that, on a semi-regular basis lately, even though it'd been a couple months since we had the 'so this is going nowhere' talk, of which he was an engaged participant and executioner. I'm wondering if I'm letting out some sort of low level pheromone that only attracts the men in my life that I've tried to mentally shelve, to allow to gather dust.

In Mal's case, though, will be tough going. Not only because I've known him longer, but I wanted him so much more, and now he's here. Being nice and helpful. Guilt seeps in; maybe he could use an extra hand. Whatever gets him moving faster so he can get out sooner. I'm heading downstairs ready to offer when the front door opens and Grams-bless her soul-steps in.

I'm relieving her of the bags she's carrying when I feel warmth behind me. Mal takes them off my hands, or tries to-but I hold him off, passing to him just the bag with the GFCI outlets. But he's insistent, as usual, and I say through a smile and clenched teeth, "No one here to impress, Mal. I got it. Let go."

What's he really thinking, that he's gonna put away our groceries for us? What does that prove?

His nostrils flare out, he's ready to do battle, but Grams is there in the background, with a brow arched at us and we both at the same moment remember her.

Mal drops everything but the bag with the outlets, the smiling challenge in his look morphing into amusement.

In a matter of minutes, he's well into his task of fitting in the new outlets, brimming with cheer and smooth explanations to my grandmother about possibly needing to finish up tomorrow. Grams is beaming at his dedication-me, I'm looking at the mostly empty boxes left in the corner of the room and wondering a few things. He's not a contractor, looking to upgrade the entire electrical system. It's, what, one or two rooms, some outlets, and stray wiring? I know this guy, and I know that he was taught to do these things by his dad. Who, if he were here now, might question why this would take two days to complete when Mr. Parker could do it in four hours, tops.

But this strikes me as ungrateful-I'm not. Mal's here to help Grams first and foremost, and I melt a little, just thinking about it. God help me.

I need to stay frigid.

Grams and I have catch-up Christmas shopping to finish before picking up the tree later. My papers are done, I'm all caught up, and have no excuse to stay behind and every reason to leave.

I'm quick to make my escape, although it feels rude, just leaving him there. Mal's sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, his arms flexed as he hammers against the baseboards, and there's no way I'm going near him right now. His jeans, tight again. A sheen of sweat on his brow. Back and shoulders wide, with muscles rippling beneath the shirt. Honestly, it's off-putting, how he looks: capable, helpful, smirking. Delectable.

"We have omelettes and bacon in the fridge. Deli meats, wheat bread, all the trimmings for a sandwich later. Coffee's fresh. Do you need anything else?" I'm breezy and friendly, trying to get us back into a safe zone, but the way he stops, turns his head to give me a view of his profile and that look of mischief growing there.

"Maybe a kiss good-bye?" he tosses at me, along with a half-lidded glance that skims my form.

Grams is back in the car already; I look anxiously out the window to the driveway, then towards him, dismayed to find him approaching.

"Guess they do let you out of the office sometimes," I hedge, backing quickly out of the room. It's Sunday, but from what Lu's mentioned Mal regularly puts in seven day work weeks.

"Sometimes." He shrugs. "When I push it."

He's standing a few feet away, the mockery gone from his eyes now as he cuts a glance along the remaining wires and receptacles. It's a timely reminder, for me. The guy's dad is dying, he's up to his ears with legal work, and somehow here he is-looking out for my grandmother.

Before I second guess myself, I rush over and give him the lightest peck on his cheeks, smiling with genuine warmth at him. And hopefully zero heat that he can misconstrue.

"Thanks, Mal."

Shock, pure and bright, written over his features. I'm glad; it gives me the chance to escape.

 _You are sending mixed signals, girl._

I'm not fully aware of how to stop. A thought which drives me to distraction, unable to concentrate on anything Grams is saying, until she whips out her phone at a stoplight, mumbling something.

Grams is a non-stop bargain consumer, doing multiple price comparisons from her phone and settling on one department store for almost everything. She's on a mission, and I'm uncertain what happened to the Grams that I've known for years, when I observe the crazy lady behind the wheel.

"Got a lot of people on my list," she explains, when I've thrown her one too many troubled glances, as she cuts off the fourth car in traffic.

"How many and is it worth possible manslaughter?" I ask, checking in the mirror to make sure she didn't sideswipe the bike messenger.

"Thirty-four."

Whoa.

I have about ten, and some of them are couples that share the same spot on my list, to make my life easier. Briefly, I cave into the idea that maybe over the years, New York's done too good a job turning me selfish. The most I've done this holiday season as far as the spirit of giving went was buy a pair of skates and an art kit, to add to the donation box at the teachers' lounge back home. Minimal effort, now that I think about it, but at the time I patted myself on the back.

Now that I'm with Grams, watching her run around collecting items for her more elderly neighbors lacking in the way of family and friends-I feel like a damn Scrooge.

Later in the afternoon, I've gone all in, adding purchases of my own to the giveaway loot. Grams pats my hand as we leave the mall, telling me it's enough, I don't need to break the bank, but somehow it still feels empty, and I tell her so.

"That means there's a deficit somewhere else in your life, B.B." She gets that knowing look of disapproval on her face, the one that usually goes along with warning me to incorporate eating from all five food groups, instead of just carbs and fats.

"Oh, no. I can smell the anti-New York rant coming along."

"I have nothing against it. If you must know, I lived there myself for a few months, back when I was younger. Easy to get caught up in all the demonstrations and rallies they had, back in my day."

That's the first I've ever heard her mention this. Curious, I turned to her.

"Go big or go home, I guess is what you and Lu had in mind, when you decided to head over there," she says, sighing. "But let me tell you...in the end, you'll only really end up going small."

What burns a bit is that her words ring true. There's not a day that goes by, walking entire blocks eating up concrete edged on both sides by high-rises, or jostling random strangers on the train on my way home after a long day at work, where I don't feel insignificant. Some days, I prefer it, but the sense of belonging only to myself back at home also means, conversely, not being part of a bigger thing. As many songs as there are glorifying city living, it is true, what they all say: it gets lonely.

Outside of Lu, there's nobody else that anchors me in New York.

But I've always told myself it's one of my favorite things.

By the time we've finished the rest of Grams' shopping list, it's dinner time, we're famished, and I figure there's no time like the present to treat my grandmother to a nice meal at her favorite piano bar. Soon as we walk in, we're greeted warmly, live jazz already in the background soothing some of our hunger. The way her face lights up once we've ordered and gotten our drinks and get to chat about the small stuff reminds me how much I'll miss her when I leave. But then I see her greeting the staff, and the manager comes by to hail her like an old friend, and that makes it better, for me.

Grams put her roots down in Portland a long time ago; it shows, and I'm forever grateful that she's found a circle of support here, knowing I leave her in good hands.

It's in marked contrast to how I feel, anytime I'm visiting my dad in Mystic Falls.

Almost as if on cue, I no sooner have that thought than my phone rings and whaddaya know? It's the man in question.

"Well, sounds like I'm interrupting a party," Dad says, sounding tired but happy to hear my voice.

I've talked to him several times this week, way more than I'm used to. Dad isn't always the best at keeping in touch, so preoccupied with his little pocket of the world that he's staked out for himself in our sleepy hometown that sometimes two or three weeks could go by without hearing from him. Sometimes I wonder if Mystic Falls has that effect on people-like there's something in the water that keeps them there and unable to consider how the rest of the world is going. Used to be that I worried it, tried to make a regular habit of checking in on dad, but now that I'm in New York and Grams has nagged me a couple times for falling into the same habit of forgetting to call _her_ -I've slacked off a little.

Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, after all.

Except now, the tree's changing leaves.

"No party, dad, you're not interrupting."

We catch up a few minutes, but it's clear to me from his distracted replies that something's up. Briefly, Mr. Parker flashes to mind. Now I'm terrified I'm about to get word of another terminal parent.

But when I start digging, dad laughs, too warm, hale and hearty-thank God-for me to gnaw that particular bone. I'm relieved and then sad, because I wish the same could be said for Mal, Lu, and the rest of the Parker brood.

"Nothing's wrong, B.B." I can hear the remnants of a smile in his voice. "As a matter of fact, it's just the opposite."

That's when I hear it-a woman's voice in the background. She's asking something, from the way her tone kicks up at the end, and I think-ooookay. He's got company. Why would he call me now?

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Oh-oh, well, you know, B.B...that's part of the reason I called. Is now a good time to talk?"

Again, there's a muffled conversation that follows on his end, with the woman.

"You tell me, dad."

But I'm injecting a laugh, trying to diffuse how weird this whole exchange is because I swear on the soul of all my dead ancestors? I'm pretty sure Dad hasn't been on a date since I was six. Back when he and mom were still together and would get the baby-sitter out on a quarterly basis. Like date night was their bonus they worked towards every three months or something. Although I've never been able to figure out whose reward it was-Dad's for logging in long hours at the office, or Mom's for missing her career because she had to stay home with me and play soccer mom, without the benefit of a husband coming home at normal times to co-parent.

"Look, sweetheart, we'll talk another time, okay? That music's pretty loud on your end."

Oh, right, _my music's_ the distraction. I roll my eyes but in fondness, because I'm happy he's got someone with him. Somewhere in hell is a nice patch of ice that Satan's probably scratching his head about.

"Sure, dad. Talk to you later." Then, because I can't help teasing, "Say hi to your friend for me."

Grams has her brows up. I can tell she's dying to know all the details but is playing her 'southern women don't pry' act, merely sniffing blatantly like she's already offended that I failed to spill everything once the call ended.

"Dad's busy," I say nonchalantly, drawing it out a few moments just for effect. "For once, not with work."

"Took him long enough," she replies.

"What can I say?" I reply. "Mom's a tough act to follow?"

"B.B."

"Sorry," I mutter.

The thing is, Mom and I have mended bridges. I'm old enough to realize that there's something to be said for women who've spent years giving up their lives for their kids, hubbies, and homes-never attending to their own needs-until the day they go into a fugue state and bounce, on everyone. Extreme cases, those. But it happens. It could've happened to my mom, but she tied up loose ends before she left, and it's not as if I spent years wondering where she was.

Every year since from when I was six until senior year of high school, I spent a weekend with her every month and every spring break, to boot. Which doesn't sound like much, but it was enough for the two of us.

The majority of my resentment doesn't stem from lost time with her. Sure, maybe it stung at first, and then a few years later when that had scabbed over, Mom delivered a new cut, by remarrying and jumping into a new family, just three years after leaving me and dad. My stepdad passed away a few years ago-good guy, but I barely knew him or my stepbrother and that's how I prefer it.

Meanwhile, Dad's been alone all this time. Until now.

"I'll let you share the good news with Mom," I tell Grams now, sipping innocently from my drink.

"I get the feeling you'd rather be the one doing the honors."

My nose scrunches. "That'd be gloating. And an indication that I'm still holding a grudge. A really wise woman once told me that gloating and grudges give you wrinkles."

Grams snorts, but I catch the smile on her face-the complete understanding she offers in it-and it's enough to improve my mood, right on time for the scrumptious smell of our food approaching the table.

In less than hour we're done, tossing our thanks to the friendly staff as we walk out into the nippy Portland air.

We make it to the tree lot right when the place is teeming with people. There's no shortage of couples wandering hand in hand, children running around, and parents either smiling indulgently or turning red from yelling. The owners have-surprise, surprise-Christmas music ringing clearly through speakers on all sides, and workers have on elf hats.

Not completely to my surprise, we find Lu and Livvie there, along with their parents. Trailing them are Ro and Katie, beaming at us. Everyone and their mom are here, why not the Parkers?

Mr. Parker's holding his granddaughter's hand and trying to explain the difference between Douglas and Frasers while also staying on top of one elf-hatted worker whose trimming off the base off a massive tree which I'm guessing is Ro's, since Mr. and Mrs. Parker already have theirs up.

Mr. Parker's OCD with this stuff, managing from several feet away to hover over the workman, much to the younger man's annoyance.

Katie's tuning him out while flagging me down, but Lu's at my side, caressing my hair and kissing my cheek in greeting, muttering, "Please get me away from my parents."

"What? Why?"

"They want to do everything together. I'm stuck on a loop of a Brady Bunch episode."

I throw him my best smile while simultaneously promising murder in my eyes. "The whole point of _us_ is so your dad thinks you're stable and boring enough to take on more work in the family business. Which means, you need to be getting _in_ their faces, not out of it."

"I can help from far away."

Sometimes I want to throttle him. "Lu, that's not how it works."

"Why not? Garrett's spent years on the payroll, full time, without much being in the office."

"Okay, Garrett isn't the best example." I'm scoffing, thinking of how Garrett dragged his feet getting into the world of steel and fabrication. "Plus, his contribution is behind the scenes handling tech. Yours would be operation. Day-to-day big picture. Have you thought this through even a little?"

"Yes. For years. I have ideas on the company-"

"And they need to be based on reality." The sigh I let out is disappointed, maybe even desperate. "Maybe you should talk to Mal."

"Why?" Lu squints his eyes down at me. "He hates all that-Dad had to wring his arm just getting him to consult on some of the legal stuff."

"Things are different now," I mutter, wishing Mal himself was here, to talk reason into my best friend. "He can help you...plan out where you fit. I don't know."

Lu has no idea his dad's training him to help run the place in a few short years; in his head, he's probably imagining learning it all at leisure, secure in the idea of Mr. Parker being around to hold his hand. It's true that most of his older siblings had gotten their feet wet a long time ago, but I'm not even sure just how heavy their contribution is now, with John, Ro, and Joss busy with their families and their own side jobs.

In Lu's case, it's all sink or swim.

I can't help worrying for him, or thinking that Mr. and Mrs. Parker-and Mal-are doing more harm than good with their secrecy.

But it's not my place, and now's not the time.

"How would you know that things are different?" asks Lu, suspicion in his tone. "B.B..."

I start walking away.

"You saw him again today, didn't you?"

I can only wave my hands impatiently. "He showed up to help redo Grams' electrical."

"Ha. Nice cover." Lu's got his tongue rolled into his cheek with disdain. "And let me guess. Somehow in the middle of it, you two got cozy."

"If I didn't know for sure you're gay, I'd almost think you sound just like a jealous boyfriend."

He saunters forward, clear blue eyes shadowed with worry. "Wish you'd picked another brother to fall for, B.B. Mal's always been kind of my favorite, and now you're putting me in a position where I have to warn you away from him."

"You don't."

"The guy doesn't do relationships. He works, he roams, and then sometimes remembers he has family to catch up on. I can't even think back to the last time he brought home a girl." He scratches his head then, a flicker of doubt on his face. "Maybe he's gay, too."

"If only," I mumble, my cheeks coloring, remembering Mal's room and the avid way he was showing his hetero tendencies, with his lips and tongue and hands against my mouth, my neck and jaw, and working down to my chest...

"All this time you're spending with him can't be good for your mental health."

I spin, his words hitting a nerve even while I'm shaking off a blush. "I'm not that obsessed little girl anymore."

"Sure about that? Three years ago, you spent the entire winter season mixing ice cream and sangria on a weekly basis to drown your sorrows about being called a ten-year-old-"

"Argh! La-la-de-la-de-la-le-la!" I plug my ears with my fingers, scrunching my eyes shut also. "I'm not listening, and you're just trying to change the subject but I see you! I see you, Lucas Parker!"

His hands land on mine, firmly tugging away my hold on my ears.

"It's just because I care, okay? Don't want to see you heartbroken again."

"He doesn't have that hold over me like that. Not anymore. And consider what I said earlier," I add, pointedly. "Mal's probably your best shot at figuring things out with the family business and your dad. He's on the outside looking in-what better objective opinion is there?"

"Says the girl who's been in love with him for over half her life."

"Untrue." I try not to sound miffed, scowling up at him while I smack his shoulder for that last comment. "But think of this as friendly advice from the woman that loves _you_ enough to do whatever crazy thing you ask, Lu!"

His face softens. "Aw, honey." He moves nearer, rubbing my shoulders comfortingly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I love you, too. Which is why I insist, keep your dis-"

A throat cleared, pronounced, dragging, and reaching us from close by. Both our heads turned to our right, where I found Grams and an assembly of Parkers approaching, halting and then watching us with their mouths-I kid you not-gaping wide open like they're all ready to catch flies. Or snow. Or snow-covered flies.

Then, just in time, over the speakers, we hear _"I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"_ and that's precisely the look we're getting from these people, I now see. Except Lu's not Santa, we weren't kissing, and I'm nobody's mom. But we might as well have been?

Is it something on our faces?

Lu's nervous chuckle rings out, while my eyes zoom to the very back of the group, where a tall figure stands beside a Fraser fir, his grip on its trunk tight and controlled, to match his rigid face as he stares out at first Lu, then me.

Mal, somehow, has joined us. Am I hallucinating? Possible. With the week I'm having, I don't rule out my slide into dementia.

"Well," Mrs. Parker says faintly, her hand fluttering to her throat and then waving in the air in front. "I knew you two were close..."

Her voice breaks a little, mouth working, forehead scrunching, and soon she's getting choked up. Her shoulder sags, there's sniffles, and before you know it Mr. Parker's rubbing his wife's back soothingly.

"But I didn't know it's progressed so far!" she suddenly wails.

Lu and I can only look at each other, brows raised, realization washing over us both. The 'I love you' on his part, then my own comment just before it. Oh. Irony. And we hadn't even been aware we were putting on a show during all of that.

Livvie's snort of disgust among other things hit me, followed quickly by a few hesitant smiles from the others, some doubtful glances, and then from that same dark area at the back of the group-an unblinking stare that any moment now, will turn Lu and me both into a smoking pile of cinders on the pine needle littered ground.

"Oh, goodness, look at me. Sheils! It's happening."

Grams is repressing an eye roll, although there's no hiding the way her mouth purses down, while she studies her dearest, oldest friend. Whose now thrown her arms around my neck, hysterically, swaying us from the force of her overwrought joy. "B.B. My sweet girl. Do you know how long I've been hoping for this?"

She pulls back, the tissue Mr. Parker handed her moments ago, pressed against her nose. "Not exactly this, I'll be honest," she admits in a lower voice, closer to my ear. "But I won't be picky." Then she smoothes down my hair, already starting to turn tousled under my wool cap. "Somehow, I always knew you'd end up one of the family."

A gurgle of laughter escapes me, then; I can't control it, not even a little.

"Getting ahead of yourself there, mom," Livvie mutters.

"Like always," Mr. Parker says, but hides it in a cough before he looks over at the tree that Mal's still got in his grip.

On closer inspection, the trunk his hand is wrapped around is starting to look stressed.

Ro and Katie move to the front, the little girl asking excitedly, "Does this mean you're bringing B.B. to our tree trimming party tomorrow, Uncle Lu?"

Ro's shaking her head exasperated. "B.B. was going to be there anyway, Katie." Then she squeezes my arm. "Just to give you a heads up. I ran into Joss earlier and she mentioned something about a sweater she was working on. For you. So. Something to look forward to."

I clutch that little tidbit she's shared like a lifeline. Joss is making me my own ugly Christmas sweater? I hear another weepy laugh, see Mrs. Parker ruffling Lu's hair affectionately while she's beaming at me, and I can't help it-I want to be part of it all. It's crazy, and actually a shitty act to keep up for most parties involved. But I can't help myself.

So I grab Lu's arm and hug it tightly to me, pressing myself against his side and throwing him a look of adoration.

"Ro." Mal shakes the tree in his grip, a distinctly nauseated look spread over his features as he nods to his sister. "I'll drop this off at your place later."

Then he disappears with his pine-y baggage, to my relief.

Grams still hasn't finalized which tree she wants, but eventually I get her to choose one. It's off to the back of the lot in an isolated corner that's kept it hidden and in pristine shape. I'm surprised how large it is. She's looking to fit an eight footer in the living room, but she's downgraded her old SUV into a newer sedan that's missing luggage racks and would make hauling a tree harder. I'm flagging down an elf-hatted worker, trying to explain needing extra twine and pointing out my grandmother's car, when Grams comes up to me, looking baffled.

"What are you doing, B.B?"

"Making sure the tree doesn't fall off on the ride home. You're better off with a five or six footer, Grams."

She starts laughing. "Have you lost your mind, child? I'm not letting a single pine needle scratch up that car. I just got it detailed and waxed."

"Okay," I say slowly. How exactly is she planning...

It washes over me, then, and I look up, aghast at my grandmother.

She confirms my fears, waving her hand somewhere behind me.

"Mal's got Josh's truck. He's designated tree boy this year. Matter of fact, do you mind showing him which one? I want to pick out some poinsettias and wreaths, but I suspect it'll take me awhile."

"Why?"

"Because Maddie's going to track me down to find out if you and Lu have settled on the names of your firstborn."

I glance guiltily away, then back, and shrug. "Sorry?"

"Mmm-hmm." She throws me that Grams look, before walking off.

A quick look around shows me nothing of Mal. Good. I don't need him and how my Grams keeps leaning on his help is starting to irk the crap out of me. She's never been like this; now I'm wondering if in her advancing years she's turning into one of those old ladies in need of a team of people in the neighborhood to take care of chores that she'd once taken so much pride in doing herself. A worrying thought, that fills me with guilt and a little resentment both. Even if she can't handle the tree herself, I'm here.

I can do it.

The eight footer she's picked leans against a makeshift wall in the very back. Nobody's there to get in my way, and I heave it up, inspecting to make sure we're not missing hidden flaws. I'm circling it carefully, bending to peer at the trunk, when I lose my footing.

The tree's out of my hand, and I'm no longer in my spot but tucked between the makeshift wall and a tall group of Frasers leaning against each other. This is the isolated section of the lot, nearer to the woods behind, the others are too damn far. Now I'm getting ambushed by a sociopathic holiday murderer-a Santa Claus serial killer flashes to mind in one horrifying second. A regular staple in my childhood nightmares, thanks to m mom letting me watch the movie Silent Night when I was seven.

My mouth's open to scream when a hand covers it.

"It's me," comes a low whisper, right against my temple. I'm against the wall, someone's warm, tall form trapping me at my back. A whiff of familiar aftershave hits me, along with unyielding ridges of a chest and abdomen, and strong arms, already burned into tactile memory. "Just me."

Oh, just Mal.

Pressed tightly against me, his face buried in my hair.

So much better.

My breathing slows, evens out, his hand eases off, but warm fingers are now cupping my face from behind, thumb caressing my cheek, lips, and jaw. I lean into his touch without thought, mostly out of relief that he's not a Santa Claus serial killer.

"This the tree?" he asks lightly, resting his chin on my shoulder.

I nod, his nose sliding intimately against the nape of my neck, tickling me.

Cold turns our breaths into misty puffs in the air that mingle and vanish. One of his hands rests against my waist, under my jacket, slipping beneath my flannel and drumming against my skin. Relaxed and familiar, as if he's formed this habit for years.

"Mal, what're you doing?"

"Mostly?" His other hand finds my side, palm brushing the curve of a breast that's instantly full, sensitive, eager for more. "Debating if we have enough cover."

"For?"

"For bad ideas."

His hand finds my mouth again, fingers tapping gently and then pulling my bottom lip.

"Getting awfully handsy, Mal."

"Push me away then, B.B. I won't fight you."

On a whim and because I hate how relaxed he sounds, I bite down on his index, hard, and when his sharp inhale tells me that I hurt him, pleasure blooms in the lower parts of my belly. But I'm not a total bitch, and I'm ready to let it go, not to take another harder bite when...

He keeps his finger inside, burrowing into my back even tighter.

Such a bad idea, what I'm about to do, but I don't have it together right now, and my tongue moves on its own, lolling around his index. I'm sucking it-Mal's finger is in my mouth, and neither of us are in any rush to have that end. He's even growling a little, spurring me to keep at it harder.

"Naughty girl," but his voice is strangled; his teasing touch coaxes out my own need to bring him to his knees.

A large hand wraps around my front, drawing me closer against his long, hard body. Under his touch, I'm squirming, not to free myself, but to arch deeper into him. His hand drifts up, under my jacket, beneath my shirt, both of us straining until he finds my bra, squeezing my breasts forcefully, his thumb sliding hard between my cleavage, before slipping inside the cup to tease my nipple. His other hand reaches between my thighs, cupping the apex of my jeans, rolling into the fabric roughly, pressing against the sudden warmth there. Drawing out a sweet ache I've gone too long without. I return the favor, molding my ass against his rigidness, rubbing.

His groans are off, out of synch with my gasps. The abruptness of this incomplete coupling has me lightheaded. I don't even feel my body moving, but somehow I've shifted my head slightly to let him capture my mouth while our bodies slide urgently against each other, behind the wall of trees that I'm dimly hoping hides us enough.

Bad spot to get naked, this right here, but the weak protest I'm on the verge of mustering dies a quick death. He swallows my words in an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue hot and feverishly lapping my own.

We're at each other's throats, literally.

I can't remember ever being more aroused than right now. Never in a million years will I be able to catch the scent of pine again without my cheeks burning.

And none of this can last. As I turn in his arms, my back hits the wall, loudly. We break apart. His features are hazy; I don't know if that's him or me, but the cloudiness reflects my own state of mind. Our unplanned tryst turns me dizzy, the nature of what we're doing and where we are causing my eyes to shut in sheer frustration that we can't finish what we've started.

"So you love him, huh?"

Smug. That's all I hear in his voice. My eyes drift back open, to find his face doesn't match the tone he's using. I can't read what's there-scratch that, I don't even care to try. Instead, my forehead finds his chest.

"Drop it, please?" I ask, punctuating each word with a bump to his sternum.

"I would," he says, "except I get a little bile in the back of my throat, watching you two. Out of respect for my digestive system, I have to pursue this."

"Mal-"

He kisses me again, more desperately now, to the point where I'm depleted of air. I don't try to fix that, instead reaching on tiptoes and wrapping my hands around to rest against his nape, where his hair furls between my fingers. We settle into it, getting a feel for each other now; he's had something cinnamon recently, but underneath is just Mal-the taste of him a drug I can't quit.

The lack of oxygen in my lungs turns into a shared thing and we separate again on a mutual gasp, staring at each other, the dismay on his face mirroring my own.

Like we're both trapped on the same sinking ship.

I have to shake my head furiously to keep from laughing in hysteria.

"This time, B.B." He sounds rough, determined, horny as hell. "I'm not sorry."

"Well," comes a resigned voice behind us. "You will be."

We turn in tandem to find Lu there, standing, none of his easygoing manner in place as he shoots daggers at Mal.

Who grins. I almost smack his chest, then think better of touching him, especially now, with his hair all rumpled, the shadow of his beard thicker and darker. The gleam of murder in his own eyes is beyond sexy. I'm drawn to it and fully aware and ashamed of the backwards step I've just taken away from women's progress, admitting that.

"I can explain, baby brother," Mal says cajoling.

Lu eyes him warily.

"She loves you," Mal reassures him.

Now I know the follow up to that can't be good, although I can see for a hot second that it does fool Lu, who takes a cautious step forward.

"And wants me."

I smack him-how can I not?

Lu's groaning, covering his face with his hands, then throwing it up in the air along with stark disbelieving accusation directly to me. For all that I know I haven't betrayed him because he's my gay best friend that I'm just doing a favor for-I feel categorically guilty.

"Anyone have a spare scarlet A?" I joke, lamely.

Mal's at my elbow, pouring his body heat right where I don't want-on me. Lu's glower is growing a little more fierce, so I roughly shoulder past his oldest brother, giving myself breathing room.

"You did nothing wrong," Mal says to me, his voice commanding as he returns Lu's glare.

I'm not prepared to delve into the particulars of why he's both correct but not, but I am ready to commit the entire episode into a mental dumpster to haul off and incinerate-until Lu's arms come up to shove his brother.

Mal's got a way of moving though-it looks lazy but he's quick as a snake, so Lu misses it when Mal evades, twists, and then uses Lu's momentum against him, pushing him hard into the trees leaning against the makeshift wall.

Which, with a loud _crack_ , breaks.

Like a domino effect, a line of Frasers collapses against the copse of Douglases behind it, toppling loudly, almost in slow motion, like sad pine-tree soldiers in surrender. Beyond, I see a table filled with Christmas cacti and amaryllis pots. Yeah, that's not going to end well.

Milliseconds later, broken pots and flowers lay on the ground, crushed beneath the weight of the assault.

Lu takes the opportunity to punch Mal in the face, hard. His head snaps back, then forward, a whiplash effect, blood trailing down his nose. Mal's hand goes up, touches the blood, and then he grins wider, even licking his canine a little.

Appalled, I can only gape at him. The hooded gaze he gives me can't be a good sign.

When he launches himself at Lu, they follow the way of the trees, falling to the ground. Blond head butting against dark, fists flying in punches that land awkward or wide. Their tussling is bizarre, grappling and kicking and throwing elbows in between trying to pull each other's jackets over their faces. To blind each other, I guess, to make the beating go easier?

It's dumb. I'm not impressed.

I almost expect more, especially from Mal-but then why I think that, is dumber than this fight I'm witnessing. Before I can throw something their way to disrupt them, I'm suddenly joined by a group of workers and the rest of the Parkers. The worker's elf-hats look distinctly droopy, the faces attached to them looking as thrilled as I'm feeling.

"What the hell happened?" Ro asks.

"They-uh," I flounder under the weight of their combined stare. "Miss horsing around?"

Confusion from clan Parker, except for one-Liv. She's wearing a smirk, throwing me her 'you moron' look, and it's clear that at least one of them has put a few things together.

"Hey, idiots!" I hiss to Mal and Lu.

They pause, looking up at me, as I indicate the audience they've attracted behind me.

It takes Mal all of a second to take it in, before he's got his focus back to Lu and I just know that Mal simply doesn't care, is willing to keep at it, has his elbow already trying to lock his brother's blond head in another choke hold.

But Lu at least sees reason.

He scrambles up and away, aiming a last sly kick at Mal's side, the only one that lands with precision. I grimace at Mal's 'oof' and momentary wince, as Lu straightens with one of his miracle shit-eating smiles in place. Patting himself, he shakes his head, like all he's done is a few push-ups and jumping jacks and needs a short breather. The workers raise their brows expectantly, looking between him and Mal, and the pile of fallen trees they've left in their wake.

"Right, about that-"

"Boys." Mr. Parker's stern voice is flat, unyielding, cutting into Lu's sheepish attempt to explain. "I don't want to know. Clean it up and go home. I'll take over the tree delivery. Since you two have regressed to eight year olds."

At that, Mal shakes his head, chuckling as he goes to stand beside the other guilty party.

"No need for that," he insists, then reaches an arm out to Lu, clapping his shoulder genially. "B.B. had it right, we were just messing around and got carried away."

Technically, his comment's true-only, it applies to Mal and me.

"Everything's hunky dory," Mal says. "Lu and I will take care of it."

Mr. Parker's got his scary dad face still in place as he eyes his sons, but now at least it's no longer as red as the elf hats surrounding us.

Livvie saunters forward, troublemaker smirk still in place. " _I_ for one would like to know-"

"Livvie." Mr. Parker lifts a finger, halting her. "Let's go."

Livvie's tossing a 'ooh you're so damn lucky you got away just now' glance at her brothers before she stalks off. Behind her, Ro and Mrs. Parker cast looks over their shoulders; clearly, they would've wanted Livvie to get some answers.

I have no idea where Grams could be, but wise, wonderful woman that she is-she's kept herself busy and away from Parker madness that I'm now embroiled in.

Clean up is quicker than I expect, both brothers pitching in with extra effort, putting their backs into it and even going as far as helping other customers haul their selections. At some point, I catch Mal writing a check to someone-I'm assuming the owner or manager-while they stand by the crushed table and pots of holiday plants that can't be salvaged. Everyone's back to all smiles and the music in the speakers blares out just a little louder, probably so it hides any sounds of further incidents involving the Parkers.

Lu tries to cozy up to me, for show. I'm ready to throttle him over that stunt he pulled. He'd thrown the first punch, after all. He shrugs at me as he walks away, passing his brother, the hostility repressed as Mal ignores him completely.

There's still the matter of my grandmother's tree, which is the only one that didn't fall over earlier.

Mal approaches, wary.

I can't risk hearing anything he has to say, so I merely point to the tree.

Moving fluidly, without argument, he hefts it easily, sliding one last look at me that broadcasts how much he's resenting this chance getting thwarted. But there's a gleam in his eyes full of dark promise that curls my toes.

We find an elf-hat and the guy wearing it is free to trim the trunk. Mal and I stand giving each other wide berth, that ever-present awkwardness between us now threaded with pure, unresolved want. It's beyond uncomfortable, and I'm now mentally counting down the hours until my flight in three days' time.

Through the sound of electrical saws grinding away, the next song chimes loudly from the speakers.

 _"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away..."_

"Of course," I mutter, then pull my wool cap down to cover my eyes and ears, stifling a curse when I hear Mal's amused little chuckle.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thanks once again for the reviews, you guys are my fuel. And I don't know why, but I mentally cast Annette O'Toole as Maddie Parker. Maybe because I used to watch Smallville way back.

 **Chapter IX**

The thing about the holidays is how people get into that vengeful spirit.

I'm sitting in the courthouse, in the hallway. It's early morning on Monday, already manic, my paralegal's shoe tapping restlessly against the polished terrazzo. We've been here an hour with no word from either the judge or the opposing attorney. It's more of the same and the usual from this particular pair. The other guy comes to court in Burberry suits and sporting Rolexes, and he's part of the golf and country club that most the judges in this neck of the woods frequent. He's particularly friendly with the judge we're waiting on now.

Me, I don't have much time or patience to practice my swing, even less for all that brown nosing.

My paralegal usually struts around like a hotshot. Someone in the office once compared his bone structure to a young Matthew Mcconaughey from _A Time to Kill_. Now Devon sports a buzz cut and a coffee-colored skin tone, and he's also Portland-born and raised, but I swear since that comparison's been made, I can hear a Texan drawl sometimes. That impression serves him well, in the office and in court. He's got the talent to back up the ego, but like me, sometimes needs to work on his temper.

Devon's on his tablet, answering the latest emails from another client needing reassurance round the clock that he could still enjoy Christmas morning with his wife and kids. I hear Devon muttering, fingers tapping away speedily, when both our phones buzz.

Spidey sense tingling, my tongue roll into my cheek because now, I'm already anticipating the message before I've read it in full.

"Can't be serious," Devon says in anger moments later, then slams the laptop shut.

"It is what it is," I say calmly, rising to my feet and tapping a quick reply to the secretary at the judge's office.

"The asshole couldn't have mentioned he granted the continuance early this morning?" Devon's eyes burn with indignation. "You know he's only doing this because he knows it's you waiting here. He'll never forgive you for embarrassing his friend in court."

I smirk, shrugging.

"I think it's a good idea to quit pissing people off," he says, moments later, side eyeing the bruise on my face courtesy of Lu.

"Hey, I'm a natural. Especially when it comes to schmucks who deserve it."

"Can't fault that logic," he agrees begrudgingly. "But still, an entire morning wasted when I could've finished drafting the brief for the Gupta case."

"How far along are you on that?"

Devon rubs his neck, still mimicking a bull enraged. "Halfway through. I can finish it today."

"No, I'll take over. We need the memorandum on Hartley pronto. Get to it."

There's relief washing over his features, before he eyes me suspiciously. "Why're you in such a good mood?"

"Am I?" I rub my jaw in mock reflection. "Could it be that instead of looking at the whole morning as wasted time, I'm thinking I just escaped spending hours having to look at the jaundiced, droopy face of a judge I can't stand? And that not only did most of my remaining work day just open up, but I might be able to squeeze in a real lunch while slogging through case files in the comfort of an office with a _big_ window."

I emphasize that last bit with widened eyes, offering a cheeky smile as we descend the court steps.

"Maybe if I had an office with a big window," he replies, bemused. "I'd be in a good mood, too."

I clap him on the shoulder. "In due time, young Skywalker."

But later, as I'm typing furiously away in my office, I don't give a shit about the big window and I'm starting to channel some of Devon's resentment. The judge really had screwed us over, and the senior partners need us to account for some kind of work for the morning. Not that it's ever a problem on my end, or on Devon's since he's well on his way with the workaholic ethics almost every employee espouses in our small firm.

It's just-today I'm looking forward to leaving early, and getting back to my electrical project at Sheila's-no, actually, that's lying. And not at all what I'm really eager for. Sure, I want to finish it, have promised that I can get it done. But really...

The light at the end of the tunnel is the chance to see B.B. again. Now that we're beyond the 'look but don't touch' stage- I'm burning with the need to repeat the experience of holding her, tasting her. Teasing her. Getting her to drop her guard, coaxing a smile from underneath the armor she's grown.

Before she leaves in two days.

Or before I maim my brother.

Would be overkill though, especially since every instinct I have tells me he has no sway over B.B.-not in the sense of what everyone else is assuming. Sure they love each other, but they always have. Homeys, is my best guess. Last night to distract myself from memories of her at the tree lot, against that wall right after we gave in to our mutual craving, I dwelled long and hard-while attempting _not_ to stay long and hard-on the kind of bullshit she's been pulled into, courtesy of my brother.

Which only really makes me want to repeat the beating that I was so close to giving him last night.

There are things to square away with him, for sure. But I'm not in any hurry, now that I know B.B.'s qualms have mostly to do with me not digging all that hard into what's going on between them. Meaning-it's smoke and mirrors. And I'm willing to accommodate, if Lu stays in his lane.

Otherwise-

Sure, I'll stick to maiming.

-x-O-x-

Lu shows up in the afternoon, carrying a bag of my staple back home-a Cuban sandwich on pan de agua bread, ham and cheese and roast pork with a layer of crispy pork skins. My mouth waters just at the sight of it. I have no idea where he got it from, and he's also got three cups of cafe con leche on a drink tray, just in time for an afternoon pick me up. Above all of that, he's sporting the world's saddest apologetic pout, which coincidentally is marred by a cut on his lip that I'm assuming Mal's knuckles made during their tussle last night. It only reminds me of the stupidity. My own included.

I slam the door on his face.

Grams is there, though, and just has to re-open it and be gracious, although I'm betting if she knew the lengths to which I've gone with Lu's 'phone a friend' favor, she'd probably kick him right back out. She's never been one for BS of any kind.

They're chummy, Grams even moreso once Lu surprises us, going over to the box that Mal's left to finish up later. In short order, he's got everything out-the tools, the remaining wires and receptacles, rechecking the seals Mal used to weatherproof the wires outside and adding plenty of reinforcements. Then, to further cement how much quicker and efficient he is with his time is compared to his brother yesterday-Lu gets the actual lights set up. Indoor, all on his own, including on the tree. Outdoors, with minimal help from me.

Grams, meanwhile, beams up at the both of us.

"Dynamic duo," she even says, although is it me or do I detect a hint of irony in her tone? I'm eyeing her sharply, but she only takes leisure sips of the coffee that Lu's bought.

"Don't forget it," he calls back, smug but then throwing me the stink eye when I scoff.

"Drop the grudge, B," he says after Grams heads back indoors. "You should be thanking me."

"Yes. I'm eternally grateful to you for making this trip home simple and uncomplicated."

My perky tone is in its best form, but he must read the glumness on my face because once he's down the ladder he puts his arm around my shoulder, trying to be comforting now.

"I remember someone telling me to keep her head in the game for this trip." The next part he uses a high pitched voice that in no way sounds like me. _"Help me make good choices, Lu."_

"Yeah, over food. Ya know, keep me from shoving platters of Grams' and your mom's home cooked meals down my throat."

"Exactly. Just imagine the tubs of ice cream and pounds of junk I'm saving you from, making sure your feelings don't get shitted on again."

"I have no feelings."

"Mmm. Just the need to merge tonsils with my brother then, I guess? Which, yuck. And also," he pauses, dark blond eyebrows furrowing as if in remembrance. "What happened to Jessie? He's nice. So is his ass."

I glare but only for show.

"Isn't he just a couple stops on the F line and, oh, yes, also born in the same decade as you?"

"Jessie and I broke it off months ago."

"Why?"

"His ass is nicer than his personality."

"Truthfully? I'm pretty sure a couple women have said that about my brother." He makes a retching sound. "Again, yuck. Why did I go there?"

"No idea."

"What about that other guy?"

"Who?"

That one stumps him, before he waves in my direction with thinly concealed disdain. "You need to go out more, seriously."

And this goes on, doesn't let up the entire time we're at Grams.

Later, when she has a meeting at the Rotary Club, leaving my time open until the tree trimming at Ro's, Lu takes the chance to drag me with him to his parents' house because like he complained about the night before, they really are trying to get extra family bonding time in with their younger set of twins. Livvie's there, looking none too pleased as usual, while she's being forced to sit through Mrs. Parker baking holiday cookies from scratch.

Mr. Parker pulls Lu and me into his office, where the two get involved in a discussion involving recalls on faulty axle components at their main warehouse. There's complaints, refunds, new order intakes, and other terminology going over my head, but Lu's trying to follow, and seemingly doing a passable job.

Eventually, the smell of baked sugary goodness reaches my nose and I find a reason to wander off.

The kitchen's warm, there's flour coating the counters and the smell of gingerbread in the air, but also something a little herbal. Maybe a new scented candle? I can't place it, but through the window is a view of bare branches and bright gray skies. We don't even need snow to make it feel like a perfect winter day.

It's nostalgic, pretty much the epitome of a Courier & Ives moment like that song always says. Livvie with her blonde curls and baby face could even sell being young enough to market this as a bonding moment between a teen daughter and her mom like one of those Pillsbury commercials. I make the mistake of mentioning it.

Blonde curls framing a baby face pins me almost to the wall with her death glare, while Mrs. Parker glances up with appreciation and warmth in her gaze, before it turns distracted, like she's trying to remember something.

"Oh," she says a moment later. "I have something for you."

And bustles off to the kitchen, wiping her doughy hands on her apron.

Livvie comes around the island. I'm getting that feeling that a mouse might have, when the big bad cat comes creeping around the corner to peer inside the mouse hole. I smell her need to dig, repress an urge to run away from it, and sneak my hand towards the tray filled with cooling gingerbread men, off to the side of the island.

A bite of his head calms me.

"Ms. Goody-Two Shoes, stealing from the cookie tray?"

I reach for another, offering her a cookie of her own, which she begrudgingly takes. "Ya know," I say, munching through the poor little head. "It doesn't hurt to live in the moment. It's not like you see your parents all the time, being so far away from them."

"Ugh. Don't preach, B.B. So unattractive. Makes you sound like a thirty-six year old PTA president." A sly grin blooms from her lips. "Unless you're going for that look? To maybe sell yourself as a grown up to certain parties?"

I've had enough. The fixation on my old crush is silly, a waste of time, and also a distraction from what really matters.

"Not preaching," I mutter. "I just didn't grow up with a mom all that into baking and stuff. Bonus that your mom can actually put out edible things, to boot, or do I need to remind you about Grams' rock collection?"

Also known as her cupcakes that turned into mini-boulders and seemed to defy the laws of decomposition while it sat in the trash bin. While Grams was a whiz with everything else involving food, her and baking pastries or desserts just didn't mesh well. Bad combo.

Livvie's blinking back at me for a long moment, before she very kindly says, "You didn't grow up with a mom, period."

"Oh, why thank you. Because I totally forgot and needed reminding."

The twinge of remorse wears poorly on her; she looks uncomfortable for a second, and I draw the moment out, but not so I can garner pity points. I figure if I can't tell her outright to spend more time with at least her dad, who may or may not be around next Christmas-I can nudge her into being a little less miserable now that she is around them.

Or maybe I should just mind my damn business...

I'm debating this still when Mrs. Parker sweeps into the room with a flourish, carrying a smallish box.

"Here you go, B.B."

She deposits them onto the island. I peer inside, surprised to find a collection of books, a mishmash of paperback and hardcover. The bindings are worn, embossed lettering well faded, and all of them on Shengxiao, Eastern mysticism, or philosophy. I rifle through, picking them up, and then glance at Mrs. Parker with confusion. She senses it as she removes the latest batch from the oven.

"I thought someone else could use them for a change." She gives an idle shrug. "Joshua tunes me out anytime I get to talking. None of the kids are any better."

My interest in the books isn't as keen as hers, yet I'm always up and open to anything as not only a learning experience but also a teaching topic for my class. And this collection is rare enough that they'd make excellent references. Just...no way I'm taking these, especially since it sounds like Mrs. Parker's trying to unload them permanently. I'm at a loss, unsure what could've sparked this, until I remember the conversation that Mal and I had yesterday.

"I can just hold on to them for you," I offer hesitantly.

"Nonsense. Keep them, honey. Believe me, I've almost memorized them all. Mal mentioned you might like to have a longer look at them, and the sooner you re-acquaint yourself, the sooner I can have someone to really talk to on equal footing."

And it gets to me, her generosity and Mal's thoughtfulness both, while I sit running an absent finger along the spines.

"Thanks, Mrs. P."

She flutters a dismissive, scatterbrained wave of the hand, her smile affectionate. "After you finish those," she says, "I'll pass along the _Bhagavad Gita_. I think we talked about that once. Kaivalya Jnana. What a concept..."

She delves into it, Livvie's face turning pained, a little constipated. I'm not aware of anything for a couple moments except the sound of Mrs. Parker's voice filling the kitchen, light and melodious, and my haphazard thoughts scattered in my head turn hazy when I hear the woman explain concepts of reincarnation and I get a glimpse of her expression. Hopeful.

She's grasping. Sinking and trying to find some kind of floatation device, because soon her other half will be gone.

Meanwhile, Livvie has no idea. She's oblivious, sneaking looks at me while I snag another couple cookies, this time with Mrs. Parker's consent and then, feeling nostalgic for the old times, turn in my seat, ready to accommodate and get into a discussion with her about the mysticism that she's so gung-ho about.

Livvie nudges me, her brow arched towards my gingerbread loot. "Big fan, huh?" Then when I nod, trying not to seem like Cookie Monster's eager, undersized, tan little cousin, she gets a Ziploc and pours the rest of the batch. "Take some to go, before we leave for Ro's."

When my eyes go round with surprised thanks, she just offers a tiny smile, before turning her mother.

"Gonna grab some lunch, mom. I'll steal B.B. for a little bit."

Without asking me, she tugs me along. Lu and Mr. Parker are still busy, their voices carrying from upstairs somewhere, and when Livvie calls out that we're leaving. Now that they're talking business, Lu's not going to bail now, I know.

Which is how I find myself in Livvie's muscle car, a black Charger that she guns down roads speckled with black ice. Me, personally, I've been accused of a heavy foot, have gotten ticketed enough times that I invested in a nifty little radar detector a while back. But since moving to Brooklyn, leaning more on the subway to get around, it's been awhile.

So I close my eyes, unwilling to tell Livvie to slow it down and accuse me of being more of the square she thinks I am. At some point, I know I fall asleep, which is strange because I'm well rested, but that's the only explanation for how we get clear on the other side of Portland, a lot closer to city limits than we were the minute I closed my eyes.

Inside the pub, we find Joss alone at the bar, her face brightening when she sees us.

"Meets standards, Livvie?" she asks. "The only thing remotely resembling holiday I've seen are the mini candy canes at the hostess's stand."

"We're good to go," her sister replies.

"I ordered ahead. Only got an hour and half before I have to pick up Shay from the in-laws."

She's got appetizers surrounding her, along with a club soda. Livvie snorts at her selection and hails the bartender.

"Shot of whiskey," she says curtly.

Emboldened because it's three in the afternoon but Livvie's knocking back a glass and asking for her second, I flag him down too.

"Southern Comfort Manhattan," I order, and then, "And a cup of water. Ooh, and calamari. And smokey croquettes." To Livvie and Joss's raised brows. "What? I'll share with you."

"Someone's hungry," Joss says, but before I can reply she bends, digging into her enormous purse. "Livvie texted she was dragging you along." She wiggled excitedly. "Brought your sweater."

I laugh, pleased that it's done, touched again by the effort this woman's put into something for me even though she hadn't seen me in years. Being Lu's new squeeze has a few benefits, but none more than this sense of solidarity with the family that I grew up with. I feel a spasm of angst, but it's mellow, thank God.

Makes me nauseous sometimes, my inner mopey.

I study it. Green, with a brown reindeer sporting a shiny red nose and teeny antlers. I'm in love with it already.

"So beautiful," I whisper, emotional.

Livvie snorts.

"Life's too short," I say, randomly. "I'm so glad I came back."

"I'm so glad there's no damn Christmas songs here," Liv replies, on her own tangent. "Or my parents."

"You- _you_ ," I say to Joss, my brain sputtering for a moment. "Both of you guys. Are swell. Really."

Then I'm reaching over, hugging her abruptly, consumed by the need to make her understand how happy she's made me. Then when I reach for her sister, Livvie ducks, wagging a finger in warning at me.

"Don't push it," Livvie says, so I go back to Jo, patting her shoulder like she's been my really good student for the day.

"Ooookay," she says, tossing a glance over to Livvie, who shrugs. I think nothing of it. As tight as the Parkers are, they're more apt to put their hands on each other to harm than to be affectionate. PDAs just weren't their thing, and while I'm not usually one for it either-it's the holiday season. Why not share a hug among friends?

I'm still smiling, while we wait for the appetizers; Livvie's still nursing her second glass, but Joss is now staring over my shoulder, eyes squinted.

"Hey, she looks familiar," she mutters to her sister.

Livvie barely even glances over. "She's that chick that mom had over for Thanksgiving. The lawyer. Mal's set up?"

"Oh, right. They hit it off?"

"Maybe. Who cares?"

My head snaps up, and against my better judgment I'm now staring obviously at the familiar brunette sitting with a guy a few tables down. She's sideways, her attention on her companion. It doesn't look like more than a friendly date, but would it kill the woman to tone it down with how amazing she looks? Power suit, stilettos, and that glossy hair-and once again, it all looks effortless. Her companion, meanwhile, appears to be the male version of her, both of them looking not just flawless but approachable, which is such an oxymoron usually, but not here.

"I can't tell whose prettier," I remark, then furrow my brows at myself because that's not even what I meant to say.

"Their office probably isn't far from here," Joss says. Then she waggles her brows. "Neither's Mal's. Oooh."

His name jogs something, but it's so hazy that I stare at Joss for a few seconds.

"Alright over there, B.B?" she finally asks.

"Just thinking."

"Looks painful," Livvie mutters.

"Oh!" I say, snapping my fingers. I need to call him. Mal. But not over anything involving his potential girlfriend who works near him. No, nothing whatsoever to do with her. Instead, I need to make sure he doesn't waste time heading to Grams thinking the work's still not done.

The food comes, just as I tip back more of my drink to give myself the extra pep to dial. I'm staring at the numbers on my phone, considering.

His number's on my contact list, even though we've only shared two phone calls in the three years. One mostly business, the other an accident.

My fingers are super slow, moving over my screen. Then my eyes get stuck on the calamari and croquettes and you know what? Mal can wait. There's fresh food on the table and it's impolite walking out on Livvie and Joss.

"Need to make a call?" Livvie asks, nodding over to my phone with the active screen. I'm not quick enough to swipe back to home, as her gaze hovers over the name that's come up.

"Later," I reply, starving now. I should've tided myself on the ride with more of Mrs. Parker's cookies.

Livvie stays silent, chewing the inside of her cheek as if in deep thought. The more I watch her, the more it strikes me how cherubic she looks.

-x-O-x-

The sun's plummeting in the sky, and my mood right along with it. Tackling the Gupta briefing, then having another file drop in my lap, almost the entirety of which needs cross checking before we can submit the documents over to the other party.

I've watched my colleagues trickle out for lunch, trickle back in, and now a couple are on their way out for the day. Devon's still out there in his own office he shares with another paralegal, but soon he'll need to head out, too.

I'm debating calling Sheila to let her know I'm running late, still poring over the newest case, when my cell phone rings, and I pick up without checking, keeping my eyes on my computer screen.

"'Lo?" It's more of a bark than a greeting, and when I hear nothing but quiet breathing for a few moments, my irritation surges.

"Whoever this is, I can hear you," I singsong. "But unfortunately, I can't wait all night for those neurons to fire and send a signal to your vocal cords."

On the other end, I hear someone's throat clearing.

"Witty," a woman drawls. "And mean. Anyone ever tell you that? You're a _meanie,_ Mal."

Shocked-maybe a little dismayed-I pull the phone back and eye my screen a little in disbelief. Fuck.

"B.B. Hi."

"Heyyy." I can hear the smile in her voice. "I'll make it quick, okey dokey? I guess you're cranky because litigation is busy business. And tricky...and pricky? Ooh, those could also describe your personality!"

Her voice against my ear even through the damn speakers is sending my groin into a tizzy, so her words register a little late. "You always say the sweetest things."

"Anyway, Lu finished the electrical work here. No need to come by. See? Doesn't that open up your tight schedule now?"

My grip on the phone tightens. Tremendously, painfully. I can hear-from a distance-parts of my phone creaking. Oh, Lu, you little shit.

"How thoughtful of him," I answer calmly, while eyeing Devon, whose passing by the door that I've left open.

"Right?" she says, sounding genuine.

"Where are you now?"

"Livvie took me to a pub. We're about to leave for Ro's, for the tree trimming." Then there's background noise, and I can hear her greeting someone. I don't catch the conversation, but B.B. sounds pleased to encounter them.

"It sounds obscene," B.B. says, moments later. I'm making leaps here, trying to keep up with the jumps in her conversation. "Why do they even call it trimming, when the point is to add stuff to the tree?"

"Are you all right?"

"Sure. Mal, I have to tell you something." Damn, and now suddenly her voice is low and sultry and everything I ever needed but nothing I can handle right now.

Although I can always close the door and the blinds.

"Yes, B.B?" My own voice sounds hoarse. Can she tell what's happening to me? She's doing this on purpose, I suspect.

"I have a reindeer sweater. And-" she stops, sounding choked. "I love it a lot. And Joss. She's so great. Why aren't you more like her?"

I run my hand over my face, frustrated but finding the whole thing pretty damn entertaining despite it all.

"You don't really want me to be, do you?"

"I saved your number, from those times you called. Glad you never changed it, Mal."

She is, she's trying to kill me.

"Me, too," I reply, unable to keep the huskiness out of it.

"Also," she pauses for a long time, punctuating it with little sighs. My eyes close, hearing them. "I'm..a little green right now."

What? "I'm-afraid I'm not following."

"Your lovely barrister," she says, in a British accent then breaks off, giggling at herself.

Something's up with B.B. Delayed jet lag, maybe?

"Just ran into her. Right off the bat, she's impressive. Mrs. P. knocked the ball out of the park with this one, Mal." Then she snorts, unladylike but putting a smile on my face. "Why am I using so many baseball metaphors?"

"B.B." I track Devon reappearing, this time ducking through the frame. "No idea who or what you're talking about. But I'll see you soon."

"Oh, I thought...but Livvie was sure you wouldn't make it to Ro's."

A natural assumption. Livvie must have heard of me telling Ro the night before that after the tree lot debacle, I was taking a break from seeing my relatives for the rest of the year. Which I had every intention of keeping, back when I thought I could get to Sheila's to finish up the electrical, and afterwards convince B.B. to play hooky with me.

"I'll be there," I reassure her.

She's back to breathing on the line, quiet. Just hearing it is trying me in the worst way but it's again bad timing because Devon's still standing there, an odd, knowing little look growing on his face.

"Gotta go," I say shortly, hanging up.

"Hot date?" Devon asks. "I sure hope you say yes, so I can go home."

"You were going home regardless."

"True, but now I'm glad I stayed a bit and witnessed hell freezing over." He backs off, I can spot the hint of smugness on his face, hear the Texan drawl makes its way into his tone that indicates he think he's figured it all out. "The real reason you've been in such a good mood. You met a special gal."

"Actually, no." Because counting our first true encounter thirteen years ago in her grandmother's parked moving truck, which was totally innocuous, feels a little criminal and disturbing to use as a foundation, and I don't scare easy. But the past five or six years where B.B. has so clearly come into her own? That has fucked with my head, and making it worse is that I'm only now realizing.

Devon, though-well, at times he's a dog with a bone.

"Your mystery lady with initials as a nickname. Should I get someone on the case?"

"Do you like living?" I toss back, dismissive. "Normally, I'd give you more of a hard time. Tonight, I'll let it slide."

"Well, it is the holidays and even the Grinch grew a heart."

He continues retreating, this time adding a flourishing bow with mock subservience, acting in general much like the future prick that I've trained him to be.

"Go get her, Mal!" he calls, before disappearing around the corner.

Yeah, I'll get to that letter to the North Pole: _Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is my brother's girl..._

"Get that sleep in!" I reply cheerfully. "You'll have a few stacks of fifty page pleadings on your desk tomorrow!"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Started working on the Charade again, is why this last chapter took a while.

On with the show...

 **Chapter X**

 _"All right, chica. Bottoms up!"_

 _Tiki held up the pen to mark my eighteenth drink, her and Caro sharing a laugh when I sputtered at their latest choice: Bloody Mary._

 _"What?" Tiki asked, innocent faced. "Twenty-one-year-olds still need their vitamins."_

 _But right then, I was less concerned about my vitamin intake than I was about my general output. Of the oral variety, since my stomach was churning._

 _This is why in the last couple years, I spent my birthdays laying low, going out for dinners and movies with friends and family. But Caro 'Twenty-One's a Huge Milestone' Forbes and Tiki 'You're Coming Out Tonight or We're Forcing You on a Plane to Vegas' Grant hadn't been co-captains of our cheerleading squad for nothing. They were loud, peppy, and pushy-in tandem-my own nightmare version of Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and I, unfortunately, after years of being away from them, just didn't have the energy to turn them down. Even though, technically, I wasn't officially twenty-one until eight in the morning...six hours away._

 _Multicolored lights went hazy all around me while I downed my latest poison. Three more, and then this ridiculous tally would be over. And I was so going to cheat with my next drink-and smiled, when Matt reappeared holding it. A glass of water._

 _He eyed me doubtfully, then offered a conspiratorial smile as he placed the glass on the table. Tiki started protesting, but he silenced her with a kiss, which did the trick and she settled back into her seat against him, throwing me mollified look. But Caro?_

 _Oh, no. Not her._

 _"That's cheating, B.B."_

 _"You really wanna see what's in my guts flying everywhere?"_

 _"Stop lying. You've been eating like a trucker and spacing out those drinks over the past seven hours. You're not about to hurl."_

 _My stomach just then churned out a protest, and I debated letting loose projectile vomit onto her beautiful, cleavage baring silk blouse._

 _"Mmm." Tiki's gaze at me turned doubtful, as she glanced at her partner in crime. "Well, that doesn't sound good."_

 _Caro just shrugged. "Dance it off, B.B."_

 _She pointed an imperial finger behind me. I glanced back and found a few tall, dark, and blurries in my line of vision. When I squinted, trying to place Caro's finger on a specific guy, I found the one nearest, standing at the edge of the counter looking over me with interest._

 _"Him. He's been looking at you for the last hour like you're dessert." Blonde curls tossed dismissively, along with her hand sporting sharp red nails. "Pretend you're not my grandmother displaced in a hot, birthday girl body."_

 _Meanwhile, Tiki smiled encouragingly, which surprised me because I was expecting a snarky comment. Matt had really done wonders for that mean-girl streak in her. Emboldened, I got up from my seat, focusing on the man while I tried to hide my wobbly legs as I made my way over, plastering an equally shaky smile as I approached him at the bar._

 _Leaning casually in what I hoped was also a provocative way against the counter, I smiled at him._ _ **See here?**_ _My smile was trying to say._ _ **Mature, sexy woman of legal drinking age looking for a dance buddy.**_ _He returned it, pleasantly, evenly, and my smirk spiked up...only to falter, when he promptly looked away, back over the rest of the club, teeming with bodies swinging in time to the music-which right now I could dimly register was salsa. I liked salsa, and tried to broadcast that, shaking my shoulders and hips a little._

 _The man inched away, throwing me a nervous look._

 _Okay. Not interested. Maybe taken, maybe gay, maybe just not a dancer, or liked redheads. It was fine. I eased myself to still, and no, this was not in any way uncomfortable or confidence-destroying, because I'd had probably the equivalent of a liter of liquid courage at this point._

 _But I didn't want to go back to the table, where I could see my friends were eyeing me, shooing me closer to my target._

 _Who was now tracking the approach of a petite woman with caramel hair and a booty the size of Alaska. She strutted confidently, didn't even look my way, as she slid up to her man, then pulled him to the dance floor, shaking said booty with energy._

 _My friends were appalled, but their faces quickly brightened when another man approached, signaling his intent by quickly buying me a drink and getting familiar with my personal space. I could smell midori sour from his breath, which coincidentally he'd also ordered for me without asking. To be polite, I took small sips, my stomach rapidly churning out another protest that was drowned out by music, thankfully._

 _"What's your name, gorgeous?"_

 _"I'm-" I stopped, blinking at the rush of nausea. Such bad timing. "Sorry."_

 _His eyes turned amused. "No way. You're the opposite of sorry."_

 _Ha. Clever. He was a little short for my taste, but I could work with it. I gulped down that horrible bile needing release at the back throat, trying again. "My name-"_

 _The room swirled, my stomach flipped, flopped, and rushed back to my throat. I held up a hand, tightening my jaw. No. No no no no no. I refused-absolutely-to spew my guts on the floor._

 _I was twenty-one, and my initial plans for the night involved a movie-and-dinner combo at the movie grill, dammit. And maybe two-or three-bottles of wine as a nightcap later, with my friends._

 _My damn friends._

 _Stiff smile in place, I very carefully moved away from the guy, and walked back to the table. Luckily, I didn't need to say anything for Tiki and Matt both to stand and announce it was time to close shop, keeping me between them as we made it out of the bar. All the way out, I could feel Caro's disappointment radiating around us. I wasn't sure what her goals were for me, or for herself, but I managed an apology._

 _"I can get home on my own, guys," I slurred. "Go back, have fun."_

 _And waved them off to indicate things were fine, but she only sighed-even more disapproval poured into that sound._

 _"It's fine, B.B. One of these nights, you're gonna let that stick up your butt come out and you'll really let loose."_

 _Which sounded possibly like a situation that needed a trip to the hospital and adult sized diapers, neither idea striking me as all that appealing. And I said so, stumbling over my words while I waited with my friends for a cab. I wasn't trying to piss them off, but I could see Caro starting to get irritated._

 _The cab rolled up just as my stomach caved. I bent over the sidewalk, splashing my nineteen drinks on concrete and the glittery, pointed tips of Caro's Jimmy Choo heels._

 _I was still mouthing apologies through the window at her when I got dropped off, Matt and Tiki walking me up to my room. Caro covered her eyes with her hand, doing a fairly good imitation of pretending she didn't know me._

 _Passing out on my bed was my last memory._

 _The next day, I woke up to a shrill sound beside my ear, at the time of day most people were taking lunch. Slapping my hand around, I found my phone._

 _"Whu?"_

 _Silence. I waited, slowly rolling over, working out the crick in my neck and wiping off drool from the side of my mouth. Ick._

 _"Hullooo?" I drawled out, then pulled the phone away, momentarily confused. "Oh. Am I dreaming?"_

 _"B.B?" came the deep voice on the other end. "Is that you?"_

 _Well, that answered it. I was definitely dreaming. No way was that voice real._

 _"Mal?"I asked, stupidly. I'd know his voice anywhere, through ten levels of drunken fog._

 _"Yeah. Hi."_

 _Hi?_

 _"W-why?"I stammered._

 _"What?"_

 _"Why are you calling me?" Then, because I realized it came off as rude, I added. "And hi. How're you?"_

 _"Great. Sorry." I could hear him swallow, pictured his Adam's apple that always struck me as more prominent than most men's, going up and down. He sounded off. "I'm fine, thanks. Actually, I meant to call Rudy."_

 _"Oh. Why?"_

 _"I was just going over some paperwork for your grandmother."_

 _My heart seized, and I shot up in bed, grimacing through a bout of dizziness. "What's wrong with Grams?" I demanded through clenched teeth, squeezing my eyes shut from the spinning room._

 _"Nothing. No, B.B." His voice grew deeper, warmer. "She's fine. Don't worry. It's normal boring legal stuff, normal for most of my clients in her age group."_

 _"Mal-" I wanted to reach out and choke him. "God, you suck."_

 _"I'm-sorry?"_

 _"You. Suck. I have a hangover, and you almost gave me a heart attack to go with it."_

 _His chuckle came through clearly, like he was in the room with me. I could see the smile, bright and cocky and with rows of perfect teeth I wanted to knock out. I flopped backwards on the bed again, blowing out a breath, blinking up at the ceiling that slowly stopped wavering._

 _"Since when is Grams one of your clients?"_

 _But it came back to me, even as I asked. The last time I'd been in Portland, when I'd had that unfortunate eavesdropping session, Mal had stopped at my grandmother's to drop off presents and POA papers. It all came rushing back, along with his mocking words. As tight as my head was feeling, the memory of it made it worse._

 _"Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to say. Client confidentiality." But his tone was teasing. "You're a big girl now. I don't need to explain. Or maybe I do. But not now, in your state of post-inebriation."_

 _Oh, God. Using multisyllabic words in that superior way he had. I hated him so much right then. Overbearing, arrogant, ass. Because I'd just spent a week on a paper about this subject matter, Attila the Hun crossed my mind. Mal was my own Attila._

 _I was the sad little Byzantine, who could somehow never escape paying tribute to the asshole._

 _"Happy birthday, B.B."_

 _Attila was short, though, and of Asian culture, so aside from the ruthless pushiness, there was probably very little in common especially in how they each looked..._

 _Wait..._

 _Did he just wish me a happy birthday?_

 _I glanced at the clock, which was several hours past the time of my birth. Yep._

 _And he had. Wow. Color me surprised. I tried to suffocate the tiny bloom of pleasure in my chest. Freaking Attila._

 _"Thanks," I said, smiling despite myself. "You're the first one to say so today."_

 _"I'm guessing because you spent most of the day unconscious in bed. What, no boyfriend to give you greasy breakfast on a tray with a rose and one of those corny greeting cards? You know, a pile of bacon and eggs, a couple muffins, cup of coffee, and your hangover will be a thing of the past."_

 _"Yeah, I'll get right on that." Then, because I couldn't help myself, and last night's debacle at the club sprang to mind to remind me of how boyfriend-less I was, I added, "Or get my boyfriend to."_

 _"...That's good. Hope he can cook."_

 _And now, Mal was baiting me. I could sense it. I always could. Attila Attila ATTILA!_

 _"Not really," I shot back. "But know what else is great for hangovers? Exercise. Know what's good exercise? Sex. And know who's good at that? My boyfriend."_

 _At my wonderful outburst signifying that I had definitely reached maturity age, we both fell into prolonged, uncomfortable silence. In the middle of it, I pulled the phone away, grabbed a pillow, smashed it over my face, and let out a tiny frustrated scream._

 _"What was that?" I heard distantly._

 _Grabbing the phone, I tucked it back against my ear as I rose from bed, feeling brave enough to weather navigating my apartment. "My neighbor," I mumbled. "Total metal head. Into deathcore. Um, so, I can let you go. I know you wanted to reach my dad."_

 _"Right. Yeah. Go take care of that hangover. In the end, water will be your best friend."_

 _"Helpful little Attila, aren't you?" I muttered, staring at the open fridge, then freezing when I realized that, yes, I'd actually given voice to that thought. As in, out loud._

 _The line went quiet again, before I registered faint sounds of a muffled chuckle. "Did you just call me Attila?"_

 _Oh, my God._

 _Mortified, I stared at my phone in horror, before it flashed through my mind, the last twelve hours of awesome in my life. Of course I'd call him the nickname I'd coined spur of the moment. I bit my lip, put the phone down, placed it on speaker, and leaned over my counter to give in to laughter, which went on until my eyes teared up and my belly and sides ached._

 _"Mal," I gasped. "I'm sorry. Turning twenty-one's been like a bad SNL sketch for me. I'm taking it out on you."_

 _"No, it's fine. It's not every day I get compared to the Scourge of God. My family might agree with you. Some co-workers. Maybe a few judges."_

 _"Basically, most of Portland?"_

 _"And parts of the east coast."_

 _"Sounds like an empire waiting to happen."_

 _"Exactly. I always knew you were a smart cookie. Maybe I have an opening for a lieutenant."_

 _"Sure. I can pencil that in, I think, since I'll be out of school and probably not yet gainfully employed by the time summer rolls around."_

 _By this point, I had a water bottle, a sandwich, a banana, and two Tylenols sitting at the counter. I threw them all on a tray and walked back to bed, flopping back down and getting comfortable._

 _"Remind me," I said, during a natural lull in our suddenly relaxed conversation. "Never ever to go out again with friends the night before my birthday."_

 _"Maybe you need new friends."_

 _"Nope. They did their duty by me. Took me home even after I gave them an eyeful of my intestinal contents." I sighed, taking in a mouthful of sandwich. The problem wasn't my friends. "I'm a disgrace. Can't hold my liquor."_

 _"How many put you under?"_

 _"Eighteen."_

 _He cursed, a short string of expletives that had me rolling my eyes. And here it would come. "Are you kidding? Only Popeye can hold that amount."_

 _"Popeye? Not Attila?"_

 _"B.B. Quit joking. Your friends-"_

 _"Mal, chill. I started at three in the afternoon, ate probably five full meals in between. Plus, a third of those drinks were more soda or juice than anything." But I bit my lip, once again giddy when I heard the relieved sigh from his end. "Who knew you cared so much? But personally I'm more worried about my arteries."_

 _My sandwich done, I moved on to my banana, and I'm so focused on that, I barely noticed until I was halfway through the fruit that Mal freaking Parker was on the other side of the line, speaking in that deep, lilting voice of his-so damned sexy no matter how irritating he could get-while I chomped down on something that was commonly seen as a phallic symbol._

 _No sooner did I have that thought than the piece of banana went down wrong in my throat._

 _Coughing, waving my hands frantically to help me breathe or cool my burning cheeks as a result of my thoughts, I glared at the phone._

 _"Are you choking?" came the question, heavy with tones of boredom. "Do I need to call 911 for you? Maybe try not hoovering your meal like a vacuum. So much for manners."_

 _"So much for caring," I gagged._

 _He laughed._

 _When I regained the ability to breathe and talk normally, he asked about my night. I spent a few seconds debating sharing, thinking about all the ways he could mock me or use the information for blackmail, but then thought, it couldn't possibly get any worse. I dove right into my moments of dignity from several of the bars and clubs Caro and Tiki had forced us to hit, back to back, highlighting my time at the last._

 _"This might be my hangover talking, but_ _ **I**_ _was ready to ask her to salsa. You just don't see that kind of ass anywhere. No wonder the guy treated me like a leper."_

 _It was all in good fun, but entirely inappropriate considering who was on the other end of the line. I half expected him to interrupt and start lecturing in that serious lawyer voice he liked to pull. This was Mal-why was I talking to him like he was one of my girlfriends? But surprisingly, it came easy to me. Maybe because thinking he was Tiki or Caro or even Lu on the other end helped make it less intimidating._

 _Shit._

 _ **This was Mal.**_

 _What the_ _ **hell**_ _was coming out of my mouth? I floundered silently, seeking a way to fill the abrupt, elongated pause-the odd, unwanted elliptical that I never meant to add to my last statement._

 _But instead of plunging into a lecture, he said, lightly, "Well, that explains the mysterious absence of your boyfriend in your retelling. You decided to bat for the other team."_

 _"No," I said, then brought us right back into another weird, silent break while I closed my eyes, mumbling out my confession. "I just lied earlier. No boyfriend. Last one got lost in the shuffle, somewhere between midterms and the holidays."_

 _But I did have in my possession my trusty vibrator. Thank God_ _ **that**_ _thought stayed only inside my head._

 _"Oh. Well, you know, a string of meaningless encounters is what all the cool kids are doing anyway, right? Beats a personal massager."_

 _This time, the silence stretched on for well past the bounds of normalcy. I couldn't even imagine what the hell he was doing on the other line. Blinking, I slowly sat up straighter, my eyes stuck on the phone resting beside me. He was still on speaker, and I could've sworn I saw his words floating around the room, sticking to the walls around me._

 _Eventually, he cleared his throat. I could sense him struggling, felt supremely embarrassed for his sake, not even mine. It felt, mostly, like this rare marble statue had toppled off its lofty pedestal._

 _"Wow," I whispered in shock._

 _"B.B." His throat cleared again, and when he spoke his voice was deeper than I had ever, ever heard before, from any damn guy, and it confused me because my hangover was fading but the room was spinning anew for me. "I apologize. I don't even know what the hel-"_

 _"No, no. Don't you dare pull that snooty grown-up voice. Let me set you straight, Malachai Parker. I'm not one of the 'cool kids' as you call them, FYI. Okay? I might live in the city, but it's not all glammed up sexy times. Get your mind out of the gutter. It's work and the occasional ramen noodles and a lot of smelly armpits in my face on the train. And also? Dick comment." But I laughed, genuinely happy that for once he was the one off-kilter. "How the mighty have fallen. I'll never take you seriously ever again."_

 _He stayed quiet after that. I couldn't help feeling smug. Who was the superior one now?_

 _"Anyway, quid pro quo. You've stuck your nose enough in my business. Where is_ _ **your**_ _girlfriend?"_

 _His laugh was short but leisurely, signaling his amusement instead of mockery. "What are those?"_

 _"Sad. Really sad, Mal. Go get one. Quick. So she can teach you how to talk to people."_

 _"I don't know," he replied huskily. "You're kinda schooling me pretty good right now, aren't you?"_

 _What was he saying? Why did he_ _ **sound**_ _like that? My mind whirled, and with it parts of my heart, spiraling up and out, almost right through my chest. At the same time, my mouth went dry, saw dust collecting there while a second of heat on the phone morphed, stretched, turned into something dangerous._

 _"Mal," I said, my own voice low and sounding more than a little breathy no matter how normal I was trying to come across. "I-"_

 _He cleared his throat, for the umpteenth time. "Hey, do you have Skype?"_

 _"What?"_

 _"Skype. It's this thing on your phone, lets you see people during conversations where two parties at different places get to have a video conf-"_

 _"Yes, thanks, I know_ _ **what**_ _it is. Why-" I broke off, starting to sweat. Again, I could barely get my voice to work. "What would we need-"_

 _I stopped, then, and glanced at the phone, reading the counter that indicated how long we'd been on the call. Forty-three minutes. What was happening here?_

 _"I thought-" he paused. "I figured, we-well, I just had the idea that we could see each other, since it's been a while. I can let everyone here know you're alive and well."_

 _ **My creepy, ten-year-old stalker...**_

 _The words popped up, randomly, then didn't go away, instead repeating on a loop._

 _ **Still a munchkin, hmm?...**_

 _I'd unveiled it all for him, just shared my not-so-amazing birthday celebration, my singlehood, and general state of mediocre living. Here I was, on a call with the one person I most wanted to stick it to, and show in blazing, neon signs,_ _ **'I am woman, hear me roar, asshole.**_ _And I'd just basically given him a free ticket to watch my stellar show, The B.B. Diaries: How to be a Complete Mess._

 _"Oh," I said, then let out a quick inhale, as if I just remembered something. "That reminds me. I think my Grams tried to call earlier. I should call her back."_

 _"Hold on, B-"_

 _"But, hey, it was really nice catching up with you, Mal. Surprisingly, you're not that painful to talk to on the phone. Who knew? Anyway, I'll let you go. Good luck getting a hold of my dad. Oh, and don't mention the night I had, 'kay? Thanks. Give my love to everyone. Take care. Bye."_

 _If I'd been dressed to kill, or even dressed period-at least showered and not still in my rumpled clothes from last night, wearing old make-up, and my hair wasn't frazzled beyond the telling-maybe I'd have given in. Or not. As much as hearing from him had set me back in my journey to be free of him, I knew having even just a quick glimpse of him would turn my entire world topsy-turvy._

 _Who needed that?_

 _But why the hell would_ _ **he**_ _want to Skype? Did he really need to gloat over me that badly?_

-x-O-x-

It doesn't take long to get to Ro's since her apartment's in the city. Halfway through, I manage to change into my new sweater, completely mussing my hair but I'm not in the mood to care about anything except sporting the bright-red-nosed reindeer on my chest. Livvie keeps looking over at me and grinning, and I won't lie, it's gratifying to have such friendly company around, so I grin right back and start to get a couple things off my chest, mostly recounting all the times I was wrong about her being a bitch.

"Hey, remember that time you crashed your dad's car and you told everyone that it was me...?"

By the time we get to Ro's, her glower is back, while I cannot for the life of me figure out why I can't shut my mouth. There's a disconnect, some kind of gap between my brain and my tongue which means good-bye filter, goodbye common sense, and I'm not orchestrating my own impending demise possibly at the hands of a grumpy blonde female cop, but I'm also witnessing it like I'm trapped inside my brain.

Oh, and? Not even that concerned.

Livvie's mood isn't helped any by the perky notes of modern Christmas songs drifting inside Ro's apartment walls. Ha. For sure she's met her quota now, but at least there are others that she can use as target practice.

Ro's shindig is smaller, cozier, mostly members of family on her husband's side, all of them friendly faces, I think to put a brave spin for Katie, who hadn't seen her dad in months as he was off on his third tour and stationed overseas.

Katie herself is by the tree, surrounded by an army of cousins clamoring for their turn to hang up ornaments. Livvie makes a beeline for the drinks station. Coincidentally, that's where I also see Aunt Minerva nearby, her scowl in place. I can't help reflecting on a few things, like how much of a family resemblance exists between the two.

"Wanna help, B.B?" calls Katie.

That's a no-brainer; the tree is way on the opposite side of Livvie and Aunt Minerva. Soon, I'm knee deep in ornaments, ribbons, and candy canes, totally going with the flow while Katie and her minions order me to arrange the taller sections of the tree, which is juuuuust fine by me since it's rare to be the one being asked to reach higher parts.

A few of the grown-ups pitch in, cheery and armed with coquitos. They pass me one just as I take a break, standing on the edge watching as the ornament bins clear and the tree gets busier.

The coquito goes down smoothly; at the same time I remember the stash of gingerbread cookies in my pocket, and take one out to go with my drink. Ro has appetizers set up, but there's nothing quite like Mrs. Parker's homemade goodies. I'm busy munching away, enjoying myself, settling into the mellowest state of mind that I can remember in months-maybe even years.

Then the remaining Parker siblings troop in, with more of their families in tow.

In the shuffle of more greetings and hugs and surprise fruitcakes popping up, and even through my ever dimming presence of mind, I take note of the tall figure that arrives last.

Except he's not alone.

He's busy, talking to the woman at his side...Emma. Whom Livvie, Joss, and I had just run into less than an hour ago at the pub. Joss and Livvie had spent extra time talking with her then, and even now Joss is hovering near, eyeing the British lawyer and Mal while nudging Mrs. Parker, standing nearby. Joss probably invited her impromptu, I work out. Which shouldn't surprise me, how Joss and her mom are in cahoots, trying to find the guy who seems intent on marrying his work, a woman to distract him from his quest. Gotta admit, stroke of genius pulling from someone in the same field. Maybe Emma could just show him her career highlights in a briefcase and Mal would get stars in his eyes.

While I chew on my cookie and tip back the rest of my coquito, I then digress shortly after into the meaning of that phrase-when it was first coined, what sparked it. I don't think it's happened to me, the whole 'stars in my eyes,' since I'm prone to seeing everyone's faults, even those I love dearly.

Cynic, I realize. Whoever first used the term was someone who must've known well how naive people could be, when it came to accepting the reality of infatuation or love. The disappointment inevitable in all relationships because of expectations that could never be met. Even the best pairings, for example, always ended poorly. Why? Because death would part them. Case in point, Mr. and Mrs. Parker.

Wow. Deep thoughts for me, at a tree trimming.

The melancholy turn of my thoughts has me reaching for another ornament, one of the few left. Now Katie and her cousins have left, and there are only a handful of people standing around. Old Aunt Minerva's one of them, having joined the crowd of tree trimmers at one point. I see she's got a glass of wine in hand, sipping from it with pursed lips like she's disgusted at herself for caving.

I offer her my ornament, in the spirit of the season seeking solidarity with this lonely spinster. Maybe hanging it will get her into the groove.

She eyes the shiny ball in my hand, spews the tiny amount of liquor she's just taken in back inside her goblet, curls her lip at me in distaste, and hobbles off, muttering under breath that I catch in bits and pieces. "...obnoxious sweater...what these girls nowadays are thinking?"

Oooh. Dissed by a vision of my own potential future. I cast a speculative look down at Rudolph on my torso, almost shrugging at him as if he can communicate back and save me from this tiny moment of shame.

Nobody's noticed, except Livvie. She's across the room, eyeing me closely-no, actually, she's staring at my cookie, that's on the verge of finding my mouth.

Unbidden, Mrs. Parker's kitchen floats to mind: the strange way she'd set up the trays. How the one I'd picked from was off to the side, well away from the others.

The herbal scent that had carried in the air.

Livvie's smug little smile as she helped shove cookies into a bag for me...

All from that one tray.

"Oh." My stare goes to the white frosted half smile on the innocuous gingerbread man, then to Livvie's. Is it me, or is she suddenly looking shifty-eyed and guilty? So much for being cherubic. Satan's minion, more like.

"Judging by that phone call earlier," comes a deep voice, hovering to the side of me, and far too close for comfort. "Should I be worried you're on drink eighteen?"

My hand stays frozen in place, the cookie still hovering in front of my mouth. If only the drinks is all I had to worry about, I almost say, but catch myself in time. No need to ring the alarm.

This close, I see that Mal hasn't had time to shave lately. His scruff is noticeably thicker since even last night, and it's running along his jaw and down his neck. He's staring up at the tree, hands in his dark slacks. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. In other words, he's every inch a man fresh from the office, ready to unwind, and get into trouble.

I'm trying, and failing spectacularly, to tear my eyes away from him before he can catch it. But my reflexes are slow, my brain a tiny bit sluggish, so it doesn't work. When he looks at me, I'm still gaping. Trying to avert my eyes becomes impossible when that gray gaze lingers, hot and heavy and roaming as if he's trying to either commit my features to memory or just simply burn a hole through my head.

"Damn cookies," I mutter under my breath.

He quirks a brow, but before he can reply, his eyes land on my sweater. Gray turns black, and stays that way for long seconds while he's effectively ogling Rudolph's nose that just so happens to be right between my breasts.

"You wear that well," he says, with a swallow.

"Thanks."

He finally lifts his gaze and then we segue into a silent staring contest where oxygen seems to slowly drain from the space between us. No idea how long we're at it, before I realize Lu has joined us. My buddy Lu, whose hand rests on my hips as he leans in and gives me a peck on my lips.

"Hi, gorgeous, nice sweater," he says, then tosses casually over my head, to his brother- "Hey, dick."

Mal glances casually around to his left, does the same to his right. Looks behind us to the closed set of French doors.

Then he grabs Lu by his ear, yanking him nearly off his feet as he wrenches one of the doors open and hauls his brother inside.

"Be back in a jiffy," Mal says to me, adding a wink before the door slams shut behind them.

Should I be worried? The gingerbread man's smile beckons me, indecipherable and intriguing, the Mona Lisa equivalent but better, actually, because it's nutmeg and cloves and ginger and cinnamon and with that extra _kick_ that Mrs. Parker the hippy bohemian occasionally tries with some of her baked goodies. Which I _really_ should've known better than to consume without first checking.

Instead of following the two Parkers inside that room to play witness to the bloodshed, I decide the best course of action is to share. In the spirit of the holidays and all.

I find Livvie with Mrs. Parker, whose animated hand gestures punctuate their conversation while her daughter seems ready to escape.

"Oh, B.B. Just in time." Mrs. Parker pulls me straight into the talk, which after a few seconds I'm able to follow, nodding appropriately with the right look of empathy as she describes her sciatica pain, and her last flare-up which she treated herself-who needs a doctor, after all, when you've got homeopathic remedies available on the internet?

Livvie's eyeing me desperately, maybe to engage her mom enough that she can slip away, but why would I do that?

Instead, I pucker my brows in thought, as I say to Mrs. Parker, "Ya know, I saw one of those saddle pillows. My principal uses them on her work seat. The ones that look like a donut? She swears by it."

Mrs. Parker's face turns bright as she launches on the benefits of ergonomic seating-in the office, in the car, in the shower...

Livvie's eyes glaze over, while Aunt Min wanders up with her walker scraping softly against the wooden floor. Her ears must have perked up, catching bits and pieces of a conversation that was right up her alley.

"That UA block," Aunt Min says to Mrs. Parker. "Think it'll work on my gout?"

Livvie's throat makes this strangled noise.

I smile at her, waving my contraband gingerbread men wrapped in a Ziploc before her eyes. "Hey, wanna help me finish this off?" I whisper to her. "You sneaky bitch."

"Uh, no. Get lost."

"Fine. I'll leave you to it, then."

But before I can walk away, she lunges for the bag, grimacing and glaring, throwing out all the stops to let me know how displeased she is with my attempt to abandon her. She shoves a cookie in her mouth, while I quickly grab a coquito off the refreshments table, my smile growing wide as I offer it to her.

"Pairs well together."

"I hate you."

"Ditto."

-x-O-x-

Ro's home office is tiny and there's not a book or paper out of place.

Well, a minute ago, there wasn't.

 _Now_ there's a mess, in the corner at her desk, where Lu is currently picking himself up from after I knocked his ass there. Pens and pencils, a stapler, and magazines lay in a heap at his feet that he steps on, trying to rush me.

I tackle him with a shoulder, sending him back into the corner.

I'm bigger but Lu's quick and tricky, so it's fun to grapple, and we both have a streak of violence-mine maybe a few miles wider. My cheek feels numb from the punch that he landed earlier, but I busted his lip again and the sight of it gives me joy-before I hear someone trying the knob.

"What's going on in there?" calls Ro, worriedly.

"Big spider!" Lu calls. "Mal and I are on it! We're almost done."

Then he bumrushes me again. I dodge at the last minute, heaving him sideways right into the wall. The framed pictures threaten to topple-one of them is my brother-in-law in uniform, grim-faced and disapproving, riiight before he falls off the nail hanging him to the wall.

I leap up to catch it in my hands, breathing out in relief when the frame lands neatly in my fingers.

Lu's crouched on the floor, I'm on my stomach, holding the frame up and away. I gesture to it, backing away from him slowly, placing it carefully in one of the desk drawers before I turn back to my brother to finish the beating I've been imagining since the moment he started getting touchy-feely with B.B.

"Wait," he says, holding up a finger. "Hold up."

"Crying uncle already?"

"Answer one thing, asshole. Why's it bug you so much? Me and her?"

It's a waste of time, pretending I don't know what he's talking about. I've made it all too clear since last week that the sight of them together drives me nuts. But it's the first anyone's directly addressed it, and really, maybe also the first that I'm forced to acknowledge it openly, out loud. Naturally, I'm stumped how to say so.

Scratching my jaw, I pull up short, letting the question dawdle.

"C'mon, Mal. After years and years of my best friend worshiping the ground you walk on, now that she's moved on, it burns, doesn't it?"

I shake my head, my laughter coming out in a scoff. If that's all it is, life would be simpler.

"What about you, hmm? I have half a mind to turn you into the local LGBT community center. You've set them back a couple years, hiding yourself like this."

"Please. That's not what this is about."

"Oh?" That doesn't sound at all like a denial. "Do tell."

Lu shrugs. "Look, not that it's any of your beeswax, I'm about to get laid off at work. But I hated my career path anyway. Now I just need mom and dad to let me in on the business more. And if B.B. had been a boy, I'd have done the same thing. It's not about her gender. It's about her."

It's about as much as I expected, and has me seeing more red than I would've thought. "Way to use your best friend, Lu."

"She's stable, okay? Mom and dad love that. They love her. I need her in my corner." He hauls himself up, dropping on to the seat at the other end of the room. It's close enough I contemplate kicking him in the shin, for being so casual about exploiting B.B.

"Why the hell would she even agree to this? You were better off going to dad and just being honest."

"Why wouldn't she? I was gonna tell them the truth, down the line. No harm, no foul, all's good. Anyway," the spite on his face flashes quickly, but it's enough to tell me I won't like what he says next. "It's not like I'm really hurting B.B.'s chances with anyone else here, right? Now New York...well, that's a different story."

He's digging and also planting seeds of doubt, and doing it with uncharacteristic cruelty, which makes me almost proud, a little. Lu's always been more of a pacifist but right now, his level of obnoxious is through the roof, puts him almost on equal footing with Garrett.

But there's other, more important things that need my attention right now, and this moron that I can't in good conscience murder even though I'd really like to isn't among them.

"Lu," I say, turning around and heading for the door. I'm still trying for calm and reasonable but hearing notes of murder in my voice. "I'm pulling B.B. out of your bullshit. Tonight. Go tell dad you're about to lose your job. You might be surprised how that conversation goes."

"Bad surprise or good?" he asks.

Pausing, I let out a deep exhale. Thing is, it's not my story to tell, but I can at least give this idiot a heads up. "He's sick, you little shit. Figure it out."

"I've got my hand on the knob, ready to open the door and find B.B. when Lu's voice stops me again.

"Should've mentioned it sooner," he says accusingly, standing. Now his face has lost that easy California boy charm. "About dad."

"His idea to keep quiet."

"How bad is it?"

"Not promising."

Then he looks lost for a moment, reminding me of how he used to be in school, when he couldn't figure out how to lace his shoes so tried to duct tape them to his soles instead. This time around, there's no easy way out of this one.

I clap him on the back, harder than necessary, but I'm still somewhat pissed.

"You never answered me," he said, shoving my hand off, but less disgruntled and more from habit. "Why does it matter so much to you, her pretending to be with me?"

"Aesthetically it's offensive-you're too short for her."

"Who knew you were such a coward, Mal? Why don't you tell the truth?" He shoulders past me roughly, opening the door himself and looking out towards the party waiting outside. His gaze lands on dad in the corner, eating from a plate of celery with dip and hummus-healthy snacks that mom must have gotten for him, which he looks about as thrilled with as he is with episodes of _Family Guy_.

"I saw you that day, out on the quad," Lu murmurs, not bothering to glance at me. "Nobody told you me you'd flown out with everyone else to celebrate my graduation."

I freeze, eyeing him closely, watching the hint of a frown grow on his face.

"But you failed to show at the dinner, and the whole family looked at me like I grew two heads when I mentioned seeing you. Then the next thing I knew, I got your email that you were swamped with work, no time to even call." Now he shoots me that earnest look, the one that I know well, that means he's trying to be the golden boy Good Samaritan here. "I put two and two together. You flew out to New York, then with your tail tucked between your legs went right back home. And I was there, like, 'the fuck was that about?'"

My return smile is frozen in place, turning my cheeks a little numb while I try to think of a good cover.

"Then it hit me. You weren't there for me, were you, big brother?"

Lu's eyes are bright blue and sharp, like he's been gifted with laser vision and can see right through the air of nonchalance I've erected. "While I like to think there's not a lot of people blessed with my looks, you do live in a city of oh, eight and a half million souls." I shrug. "You saw someone that looked like me."

He scoffs disdainfully.

"Good luck chasing down the girl with your head still stuck up your ass, Mal."

This time it's him clapping me on the shoulder, making sure I hit the frame-hard.

* * *

Also, thanks to everyone who's followed, faved, and reviewed this. Thought I'd give a few shoutouts and answers :)

 **MmeBlatte** re: Mal and B.B. working a case together-you've planted a plot bunny for this pair but it probably won't be for this fic. **Babaksmiles** re: Let It Snow Bonkai edition...lol, that was great, and I'm a huge fan now all-human bonkai stories-surprisingly, since I'm a total magic ho usually! **LadyluckAJ and candicane26,** hotter mess and sexual tension coming right up in the next chappie. **steph01924, ally** \- well they do meet up a little here, hope this tides you over until bigger stuff happens next chapter. **florence930** \- teensy dash of sociopath with an ounce of puppy is apt for mal when it comes to anything bonnie for sure, handy description you hit right there lol. **malachai-bennett** \- hopefully the first part of the tree trimming offered enough excitement for ya. **lulu** \- the brothers got to air out some of their aggression a little more while also clearing some of that hostility in this chapter, but does it mean full steam ahead for bonnie and mal? _hmm..._


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Howdy. Three days til Christmas! How'd that happen? Yikes. Hope you all have a safe and happy holiday week. Classes are over, and I've got some vacay days, so I'm halfway through the next Charade chapter, and yes, **leia1naberrie** , I'll be sending the first draft out to you for beta, thank ya kindly! :)

 **Chapter XI**

Livvie isn't totally high out of her mind, but the pick-me-up is enough that when Shelly comes around dropping hints she and Ro need help in the kitchen, I'm gung-ho to tackle dishes and Livvie, who normally hates anything resembling domestic chores or kitchen work of any kind, pipes in with a bright smile, "Dishes are groooovyy!"

On our way to the kitchen, a flash of red in the corner of my vision falters me. Livvie bumps into me when I stop and stare in confusion at a ginger head attached to a tall form. He looks vaguely familiar; through the haze in my mind I place him as Lu's Prince Harry. Strangely, he's taken a seat by Garrett of all people.

"Who's that?" I whisper to Livvie, trying not to be obvious.

"Gare's frat buddy. Met him last year. Or you would have," she adds sing song, "If you weren't such a chicken shit about coming home and seeing _he who must not be named_."

It's enough to have me side eyeing her. I myself am in a state of zen, not quite on the same level as Livvie, but she's had more to drink and also, finished the rest of the bag of cookies that she tricked me into taking. I'm thinking guilt maybe motivated her into eating the lion's share, while enjoyment of the thing prompted her to keep at it.

Either way, she's a lot more free with her opinions and thoughts now than I've ever known her and I'm not so sure that's a good thing. Soon, though, I forget all that, when Livvie tackles the sink, throws on some rubber gloves, and launches into off-key notes in time with the music.

Katie trips inside the kitchen, carrying something in her arms that she places on the kitchen nearby. She hears me and Livvie in the middle of singing along to Frosty the Snowman that's blaring from the speakers, then smiles doubtfully at us from her station by the cart.

Behind her enters Emma and her pretty, shiny hair. She's still in her power suit, still well-heeled and now wearing an expression of concentration, as if she's trying to work out how to navigate her way outside of this apartment teeming with Parkers. Or maybe she's rehearsing a new set of lines for her next encounter with Mal-maybe imagining how to broach a plan involving their joint rule over the supreme court and sandwich in a round of hot sex in between world dominion?

"Hello," Emma says, smiling at me. "Love your sweater."

"Thanks, you have great hair," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Nonplussed, she stops, blinking down at me. In her heels, she's several inches taller although without them, she's probably only got me by a few inches.

I can take her. I've got more ass and hips and boobs and spunk, and where that thought comes from...I'm not entirely sure.

"Why would we even fight?" I ask Livvie, indicating Emma, completely random and out of nowhere and also interrupting Livvie mid-verse in her sing-along, but her blonde curls shake while she nods her head at me in complete understanding.

"You're too mousy to instigate, B. But in a crunch, you'd win."

I gasp, deeply touched.

"Deep down, you're as crazy as the rest of us."

"Thanks, Livvie."

She shrugs, drying her hands.

Then her words resonate a little more.

"Mousy?" I ask, feeling my brows pucker. Really, I should take offense to that. I _should_ , but right now, I simply can't muster up the hostility.

Aunt Min wanders in with her ever-present scowl, sending Katie scurrying closer to me and Livvie. Katie begins drying, taking over for Livvie, who eyes her aunt with a grimace.

"If you don't turn that frown upside down, Livvie," I whisper earnestly, with partial good intentions because right now I'm one with this chick. She's my soul sister. No matter how much of a miserable cow she can be at times. I chuck my head in the direction of her aunt, whose face now looks like it's permanently ingested sour candy. "That's gonna be your future."

Livvie tosses her middle finger at me, but it's lacking heat, especially when her hand goes up to her face, feeling out the frown there, and then in the next second, I see it go the other way, her lips curving up a little, with effort. I nod encouragingly.

Armed with the bottle of water she pulled from the fridge, Aunt Min heads back out just as Mrs. Parker ducks her head inside, spotting Emma. The British woman's been standing in the kitchen without any reason, so I start to suspect she's actually hiding from Mrs. P. A suspicion that grows wings and takes off, when I see the grimace Emma hides as Mrs. Parker waves her over excitedly. They disappear back through the door together, Emma looking back at me with what appears to be, without question, consternation.

Vaguely, something flares in the back of my mind. Some kind of blip on my radar, but the entire B.B. system is glitchy at the moment so I don't pay it heed.

Minutes later, someone's deep laughter carries. My stomach turns. Haven't heard it often, that sound, but I know it well, and usually it's never that loud.

Mal. Finding something-or someone-amusing. Clever. Smart. Beautiful. Hadn't she said at Thanksgiving dinner she made pumpkin soup? Maybe she's offering to make it again for him. Even though he hates soup, generally, but she's the type of woman you make an exception for.

Katie approaches.

"Can I show you something, B.B?"

I nod, but my eye is on the appetizer on a napkin that she's holding, that I'm thinking I'll need to try. Soon. Not for comfort or anything, but just to be polite. Wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings about their cooking.

It feels like most I've done since arriving in Portland is eat, get ready to eat, or recover from eating.

That is, when I don't have Mal on the brain, trying to untangle this pretzel knot of thoughts and emotions about one man. After five years of absence, my treacherous heart and brain are right back to doing what they'd done best for the last thirteen years: orbiting the dark planet known as Mal Parker. Only now, I'm getting the impression from our latest encounters that he's off-balance himself when it comes to us. Is it satisfaction, though? Or more relief that I have an answer, finally. Things make a lot more sense, in hind sight.

His assholery from years back, around the time that I hit junior year of high school...

I look back on that time with renewed interest.

His kisses taste too much of pent up longing. Mine probably come across the same to him, but I've pretty much loved the guy for over a decade, on and off. And okay, the early years of it don't count except as training pants. But I'm fairly sure that at fourteen, I was capable of strong feelings. Strong enough that I tried my best to turn it all off, in the face of his subtle yet mortifying rejection.

For the sake of my sanity, I try hard not to read heavily into what happened in his room, and the tree lot, but-in the mood I'm in, I can't help it.

Maybe more ganja cookies are needed to keep myself from dwelling on this. Or maybe my flight back to New York can't come fast enough. Outside of it, I turn soft. Too forgiving.

"Earth to B.B?"

Blinking, I take in Katie's small hand waving over my face. I'm a horrible person, tuning out a little kid. Although if memory serves-which right now, isn't too sharp actually-my own parents and even Grams and most definitely Mr. and Mrs. Parker-maybe also Mal and Joss and Ro-have all done the same, throughout the years. Going blank faced anytime a kid starts yapping a little too long before their faces.

It's like a membership pass or something. Apparently, I'm now a card-carrier.

"Sorry," I mumble, then try to focus. "What was that?"

"I turned my turkey tree into a wishing dove. Did you add yours?"

"Not yet."

She tugs my hand over to the item on the kitchen cart, so that I can properly appreciate it up close and personal. I step back, eyeing the stack of dishes remaining in the sink a little mournfully. Dishwashing's been my self-appointed zen moment. Something about it has always soothed me.

Mrs. Parker once mentioned that it was symbolic. The cleansing. Off with the old, in with the new. As a child of divorced parents, she'd said with all the certainty of being a non-certified, non-licensed expert, I was constantly looking to reinvent things by cleaning off whatever didn't work for me. And I applied the same concept to myself.

A passable theory, I'll admit.

Ro steps back in with Garrett and Shelly now in tow, in the middle of a conversation. Livvie takes that as a chance to turn her back on her siblings, taking over where I left off with the dishes.

Meanwhile, Katie's pulling offering me blank slips to add to her paper Mache bird, now overflowing with write-ins tucked into its white feathers.

"Maybe next year I'll go with an elf...not as corny," she says, actually seeking my input, and this is not the right time to share with a minor that I'm equipped with faulty reasoning. Nope. In no way will I share with this little girl that her Aunt Livvie purposely tricked me into having cookies laced with contraband goods. Baked by her grandmother.

Instead, I smile back, remembering her still as the one year old near-toothless baby with a habit of tugging and chewing on my hair. "A little corny never hurt anyone," I say. "That's why the greeting card industry's still popping."

For someone who was once a bubbly baby, she's now a fairly quiet kid. Her other cousins are a lot rowdier and I see why she's turned to hobbies and arts and crafts. She's smart; tuning out the noise.

"This one's mine," she confesses, pulling out a rolled up tiny slip, offering it to me.

 _Wish that mom and dad don't have any more kids._

Oy vay. Biting down a smile, I ruffle her hair, drawing a smile from the girl. She ducks her head, then looks at her mom. Ro's eyeing us suspiciously, in that 'Mom' face of hers that she's had years to perfect.

"Might wanna share that with them," I whisper conspiratorially to Katie. "In case they're making future plans."

Her round eyes gleam with serious intent. "I have enough loud cousins. And I wanna be like you. By myself all the time."

From the mouths of babes. For a second, I'm not sure how to play that one off, before I settle on a soft laugh. Should I tell her my secret to being an only child? Katie's following the same trajectory, only in her parents' case it's out of necessity. Her dad stationed overseas is a separation hinging on circumstance, not their ideal choice. My parents were just neglectful assholes to each other.

"The secret," I tell her, "is to keep reminding your mom how long the diaper stage lasts."

Garrett passes by as Katie giggles. He eyes us with a smirk that's faintly reminiscent of Mal's, joins us as we stand before the makeshift bird.

"Didja add yours, uncle Gare?" Katie asks.

"Sure did," he says. "If you see one about wishing people knew how to use the turn signal, that's mine."

I wrinkle my forehead, pondering. "Does that mean you've finally figured out how to use yours?"

"Ha ha, B.B." But he's grinning, his eyes skipping over my face. "So you and Lu, huh?"

Oh, geeze. If this was any other time, I might have started jamming random things inside my ear. Instead, I give a tiny quirk of my brow and shrug.

"If it was anyone but Lu, I wouldn't be surprised," he says, then lets his gaze roam over me, blatant. "Someone's really left her ugly duckling stage behind."

"Gee, thanks," I say, not really offended since it's Garrett and that was about the best he could do as far as compliments went. Plus, he's always thought he's God gift to women, so trying to flirt with me isn't anything new. "Shame I can't say the same of you."

Ro and Shelly both bite back smiles, while Garrett scratches his head, then shrugs. "One day you'll cave."

"That'll be the day you stop mooching off mom and dad, Gare." Lu's easygoing voice cuts through as he enters. Right behind him-and making my heart skip a beat-is Mal.

"Hey, now," Garrett says, then tucks his collar up, shaking off the comment easily. "Didn't you get the memo? You're looking at an official employee of Turner Inc."

Livvie turns, staring blankly, as do Shelly and Ro. "You're not talking about Turner Inc. that's out in Corvallis?" asks Shelly.

"Yup. They had a consulting job, part-time and mostly telecommuting. I won't need to be in the office except once or twice a month. No need to relocate."

"Garrett," Ro says slowly. "Dad's been campaigning to remove James Turner from the Chamber of Commerce since Lu and Livvie have been in diapers. Are you out of your mind?"

"Way to go, Gare," Livvie cheers mockingly.

"Well, I'm not dad," Garrett replies. "I can put aside differences to work with someone looking out for the common good of the people."

Mal coughs, moving to sit beside me, and I'm close enough to hear the word 'bullshit' sandwiched into the sound, tiny smirk in place as his eyes meet mine, then turn heavy-lidded. Suddenly I lose track of the conversation around me. What I should do is look away, turn to Katie and hope she's got other wish slips to show me. But I just keep staring, idly hoping that I'm not drooling at the sight of him.

His office attire is the complete opposite of his handyman outfit from yesterday, but the dark slacks are still snug, and his way of folding up his shirt means those bare, hairy, large arms are still taunting me. Damn him. The top of his shirt's unbuttoned, his tie slightly askew. It's sexy, as usual, and it makes me hate him a little, that he's getting up in my face like this.

But with everything else in the last few hours, it also turns me reflective. At least I'm close enough to see the bags under his eyes.

"Long day?" I ask.

"It just got better," he says, using that low lilt I will never get tired of hearing, leaning in with that light of appreciation in his eyes that I will always second-guess, probably for the rest of my life.

At some point, Mal got hit over the head and now, has forgotten how strange he finds me. That has to the only explanation for what's come over him. Or he's succumbed to some rare illness that includes symptoms of dementia.

I almost want to feel his forehead.

Wonderful kid that she is, Katie decides that now's a good time to distract me, offering me more little notes.

I try to focus on them, instead of the large presence beside me. It might've worked, if he wasn't also trying to butt in on this. His chair slides closer, those damn arms shift nearer. Before I know it, Katie's placing the tree between me and Mal and our heads are bent almost towards each other, going over the tiny notes.

 _Wish for everyone a safe and happy season of celebrating with friends and family._

 _I wish none of this awesome spread will lead to a ten pound weight gain this month._

 _I wish for another lifetime of waking up healthy and seeing my wife's face every morning._

That one draws me short of breath. Right away, I can tell whose it is from the familiar scrawl, and then my throat feels tight.

Mr. Parker.

I can't pinpoint if it's the current state of weirdness I'm in today or just the fact that holidays with these people can turn anyone into an emotional wreck anyway, but...I'm at risk of bawling. Katie doesn't notice, has actually moved away at this point, but Mal's there. His arm touches my hand, nudging it, his hair on his forearm tickling my skin as he slides one of the other notes my way.

 _I wish I could hug whoever made deodorant._

I cover my mouth, biting down on my lower lip to choke back something, either a laugh or a sob.

He plucks a couple, stopping at the third one that he offers up to me with an innocent face.

 _I heartfully wish you hadn't killed a tree to make this paper bird._

Now I'm covering my whole face, definitely this time trying not to laugh.

Peeking at him between my fingers, I see Mal grinning back, those gray eyes alight with good humor and warmth and for the first time that night, I don't have any resentment towards him. If anything, I think I'm channeling my ten-year-old self, doing a damn good imitation of tumbling right back into love with the guy.

"What exactly was dad's problem?" Garrett's still ranting. "That someone's lobbying for issues he's against? Is dad even aware that, hello, no need to take it so personal?"

"Okay," Lu says, clapping Garrett on his shoulders. "C'mon, bro."

"Tonight isn't the night to get on the soapbox," Ro adds, tone waspish.

"No?" Garrett said. "Think it's time we tell dad a few hard facts. There are bigger fish to fry."

I look at Mal, whose jaw is tight as he's busy writing his own little notes. Not just one, he makes out four slips, littering a small corner of the island. I don't read them, but instead grab the pen he's just put down and scrawl on the edge of one of the discarded notes by me.

 _Tell them._

And slide it over. He reads it, gives me a sideways glance and small shake of his head.

Which prompts me to glare. Hard. Nobody's paying attention to us, so I tap on my paper insistently. He pushes one of his notes to me.

 _Wish my brother spilled the beans sooner._

Ah. My eyes slide to Lu, but his attention's on Garrett still running his mouth.

Mal slides another one.

 _Wish everyone here was a million miles away._

I'm barely done reading that when another note reaches me.

 _Except me and you._

My legs get restless once more. I need to go, but no sooner do I have that thought than he slides his last note, his fingers touching mine, lingering.

 _Wish I could take you home._

He's trying to give me an aneurysm, the jerk. Blood's rushing to my head, there's roaring in between my ears, and too much damn pressure. He's close to me, his chest brushing my shoulders, and I have no idea how none of his siblings notice how intimately we're sitting. Except no, I do.

They're all still bickering around us.

"I'm a grown man!" Garrett's insisting. "So what if mom and dad paid my rent until last year? It doesn't mean dad dictates who I talk to or work for."

"Well, see," Ro says, sugar dripping from her tones. "Usually grown-ups pay their own way."

"Can you just save the rants for twitter, Gare?" adds Livvie, having abandoned the sink and moved across the room nearest to the door, all the while rubbing her temples. "Seriously, now's not the time."

Sparking new outrage from her brother, and another wave of bickering ensues.

"B.B." Mal's breath fans my hair, his nose brushing the side of my face. "Let's get-"

I stand, the chair scraping loudly, but even then it's just me and Mal the only ones paying attention. I'm scurrying back to the sink, putting as much distance between the two of us without leaving the room, thinking that should do it-until I feel him land beside me. I've already got the water on, have started attacking the bowl and the gravy container with the sponge, when he pulls it easily out of my hands and starts cleaning them off with the spray and depositing them inside the dishwasher.

His expression mild and unhurried while he's at it.

As if this is all routine for him, writing insane notes to me, and then doing domestic chores together, while in the background, his siblings are turning red in the face from arguing.

"Question." His voice is low and light, composed and in total contrast to his words. "Can I abduct you soon?"

"Okay," but wait, that is so not what I was intending to come out of my mouth. "Wait-Mal. I'm a little high right now."

"What?"

"Your mom made cookies," I explained apologetically. "I didn't know they were the _special_ ones."

"Of course," he mutters, throwing me one of those looks, the one that's confusing me in my present state since I'm not sure if he wants to devour me whole or throttle me.

"Why can't anyone ever stick it to the guy?" rants Garrett.

Mal's grip on the glass in his hand turns white-knuckled, and is it me or do his eyes seem to want to burn a hole into my head?

"He's not end-all, be-all, he's not Go-"

The glass in Mal's hand goes flying, too fast for me to follow, but I see Garrett ducking a nanosecond before it hits the wall, shattering into pieces on the tile.

Everyone's eyes turn to Mal, now smiling and completely unabashed.

"Dude," Garrett says. "What the fuck?"

"Dad's dying. Cirrhosis. End stage renal disease." He shrugs, drying his hands while giving me a last sidelong glance that clearly spells 'happy now?'

"Google it," he adds. "Get some tissues, discuss. Deal. Preferably before you go confront them. Mom's enough of a basket case, no need to go adding extra."

It lasts a good long minute, everyone standing around in open-mouthed shock. Everything's in the dishwasher, I only need to wipe up around the sink and drop the sponge into its holder before my hands will have nothing to do and I'll have nowhere to turn except to a brood of Parkers facing shitty news.

When Aunt Minerva wanders back in, her pinched face turns curious. "Someone die?" she croaks.

Shelly starts sobbing. The room erupts into a flurry of noise and movement and _too much._ All at once. Exclamations, demands for explanations, and then of course accusations. Being flung around, over our heads. I'm regretting the loss of the gingerbread men which could really help right about now, to make the night pass quicker or at least keep everything from feeling so sharp.

But I no sooner have that thought than I realize-

The kitchen drama's gone. Quiet's taken its place.

Not total silence, but just the old background noise of Ro's music and background chatter-well, less chatter, more uproar. But it's now in the other room, away from me...

...and Mal.

I'm cutting my eyes frantically around, trying to figure out how I could've missed it, as he drifts closer.

"What just happened?" I ask faintly.

"Aunt Min, bless her spiteful little soul, decided to hold an Inquisition for my dad. Something about keeping his health a secret, just to continue his reign of terror in the company."

"Oh. Is that all?" But with each of his steps forward, I take several back, until his arm snakes out, keeping me in place. "Sounds like you might be needed out there."

"Yeah. Sure does."

I busy myself counting the stripes on his shirt, while my hands go up automatically to push him away, but my fingers betray me. They brush across his chest, stuck on the fabric. How is it that his shirt is so soft? Does he like the contrast because he's so damn hard underneath it?

Under my fingers, I feel him flexing, the show off.

I swallow an audible gulp, already regretting my eyes flicking up, slow and careful.

Finding him staring down, the look on his face striking a chord in me. I'd seen it before a long time ago, and I'm trying to place it...

He's dying to touch me, it's obvious, but his expression's familiar and I'm boggled-my brain a complete disaster of a mess-since until a few days ago, Mal's always kept me at arms' length.

"There's no you and Lu," he's saying gruffly.

"There is," I protest. "We're best friends. I love him-"

His laugh is a harsh bark.

"-like a brother."

He looks down at me, everything about him dangerous now. His arms lean down, large hands landing on the counter behind me, and effectively I'm trapped. He's got me. I can shove him, but somehow I know that probably won't even move him an inch.

"Let me go," I whisper.

"Ya know?" he asks, his smile ironic. "I think I've been trying? For a long time now. And I'm only just realizing it."

"You picked a bad time to do this, Mal."

"What am I doing?"

My hand is still on his chest, so I peel it off, then gesture between us before I throw my hands up in the air. "I don't even know! You tell me."

"How stoned are you?"

Sadly, not enough. "Maybe a cup of coffee away from normal."

"Thank God."

His face inches closer, and I feel his breath, aching to share it once more. It must show on my face because he smiles.

"I ever tell you I'm pretty fond of Rudolph?"

Mal dips his head low to kiss me, his chest brushing mine right against where that red nose rests. His arms tighten around my waist, drift up my back, and tangle in my hair. I'm threading mine through his, enjoying that he's grown it out, that it's as thick and soft as I always used to imagine. Involuntary sounds escape me as he takes soft drags on my lips, tilting my face to him for better access.

"Bonnie," he murmurs, my name sounding illicit coming from him.

I can do this all day, is my one persistent thought, letting my lips part and his tongue in to stroke deeply, forcefully against mine. Our bodies crush together, everywhere feels hot, weightless, tingly, a chemistry experiment gone wild. I'm a hundred percent sure underneath my clothes, parts of me are singed, burned by him everywhere he touches and tastes. He chokes back a groan, when my fingers drift beneath his waistband, my nails scraping roughly on his abdomen.

His hands explore beneath the sweater, his thumb and index pinching softly as they trail up along my ribs, tickling and inching closer towards the swell of my breasts.

"Stop," I gasp, and he accommodates me, bringing his hands lower, gripping my ass to knead there with firm, frenzied pressure. He lifts me up, my legs wrap automatically around his hips to squeeze. He drapes me over the sink and I don't care-I'm ready to lay on the counter and let him roam at will.

His mouth lands on my breast, tonguing me hard through my sweater and bra. The familiar dark head is bent over my chest and I know I've had dreams just like this, but now it's real-unless I'm higher than I expected and imagining it all...

I can't help the tiny disbelieving laughter that bubbles out.

"This funny to you?" he growls, glancing up, his eyes bright with lust but beneath flashes a gleam of curiosity, even while lower parts are showing signs of duress.

He's hard, poking me insistently. It's a delicious jolt to my system feeling that reaction from him. Biting my lip, I roll my hips against his, testing.

His gaze turns incredibly dark and heated. "I'm not laughing, B.B."

"You should be. Making out with your creepy stalker-is that some kind of new low for you?"

His groan hits my chest, while his head rests on Rudolph's antlers. "Don't do this now. Please."

The kitchen door swings open.

I shove him hard. In a fluid move he lets me go, then bends down on the floor, crouched over one of his shoes, while I try to stay upright on shaky feet, and remember where and who the hell I am.

Grams stop short, then looks beyond to the sink and shakes her head ruefully. My own head's still spinning, blood's still pooled on my cheeks and other body parts that need to calm the hell down right now-it's so uncomfortable that it almost hurts, and my hands are itching to go around Mal's neck and squeeze right now. Or, alternately, find somewhere peaceful and quiet and soft so I can take his and my clothes off already and get to work.

Jesus save me. My cheeks burn hotter.

"Leave it to you," Grams says with mild disapproval. "To hide by the sink when there's a party."

Mrs. Parker stumbles through the door a moment later, looking frazzled. Behind her carry the sounds of a rising argument and the familiar clamor of Parkers belting out mutual discord. It's not officially the holidays until you hear that in the air.

"Maybe right now, you've got the right idea, B.B." Grams mutters.

"Sheils," Mrs. Parker says, her expression distraught. "They're so upset."

"Well, of course. They'll find a way to manage. Give them time."

Mrs. Parker's hands are fluttering over her face, which is wrinkled with worry and on the verge of collapsing into a fit of tears. Oh, boy. Wrong time, wrong place, but because I can't stand it when other people cry, I cast about desperately for another topic to distract her with.

And naturally, since Mal is at my feet, bent over while pretending to tie the laces of his office shoes, the first thing that comes to mind is his counterpart out there in the living room.

"Well, hey, I'm thrilled to see Emma again," I gush. "Total breath of fresh air, that one, huh?"

It doesn't escape me, the way Mal's back goes rigid.

"Yes," Mrs. Parker agrees, though with a little surprise. "I didn't realize you'd gotten so close. Emma spoke well of you also."

My eyes go round. "Wow, really? But no, we're not close. We've barely talked. She's just...so charming. _Just a spot of lovely_ ," I add in my horrendous British accent, and oh, wow, yes, I did that out loud and in front of two women whose opinion I care about most and Mal, who is-well, him. He'll probably never let me live _that_ one down.

My nervous chuckle dies a quick death.

"Are you well, child?" Grams asks, squinting her eyes.

For a moment, I'm drawing a total blank.

"Now that you mention it," comes the smooth, even voice from the floor, where Mal still looks super occupied tying his laces. At some point, his act's going to turn ludicrous beyond belief. "I think she looks a little flush. Would you agree, Sheila?"

"Yes," Grams replies, a frown crossing her face.

Just then, from the living room comes simultaneous shouts about-I strain my ears- _changed my voter registration to Independent and I'm never looking back!_ (which sounded a lot like Garrett)-and someone else protesting- _consider yourself marginalized in the will!_ (which was definitely Mr. Parker's angry roar).

Grams sighs. "Maybe we should go. Right now's starting to sound-"

Mrs. Parker lets out a small pathetic shriek. "And leave me alone? Sheila Bennett...you can't. Please."

Grams rolls her eyes. "I've got an early appointment tomorrow, Maddie."

"Fine, but at least...would you mind terribly if you dropped me off first? Josh can get home on his own. It was all his idea to keep mum, anyway," Mrs. Parker adds, sounding a little more waspish than usual now.

"I'm fine," I urge, although there's a small corner of my brain where I'm tempted to bring up Mrs. Parker's ganja cookies in passing. But, nah. "Don't worry about me if you need to leave, Grams. I can get home myself. I came with Livvie-

"No." Mal suddenly draws up to his full height, eyeing me dismissively while moving closer. "Go ahead, both of you. I'll take care of B.B. We'll let the others sort things out amongst themselves."

His hand finds my back, and though his words are as casual as the way he just looked at me, his touch is anything but. His fingers are stroking, dipping lower, to the tops of my ass.

Oh, God, _what_ is he trying to do? I'm dizzy all over again.

"I think we've all earned a little relief from this," Mrs. Parker mumbles.

Ha. Truer words were never spoken, and now I'm deeply mortified, having obscene thoughts of the kind of relief I need to find with Mal, while my Grams and his mom stand in front of us, planning their mutual escape in a low murmur.

"Great," says Mal, pulling me along. "C'mon, B-"

"Oh, but-" Mrs. Parker turns suddenly, her eyes zeroing in on our joined hands.

I drop his like a hot potato, smiling nervously.

"You can't leave before talking to Emma, Malachai," Mrs. Parker scolds. "I've been trying all night to see that you both get a chance-"

"Dammit," Mal cuts in harshly. "In case you weren't aware, mom, since you've probably imbibed most of the wine meant for Ro's guests, I'm not interested in what's-her-name. Make my apologies and wish her a safe trip back across the pond. Oh, and don't set me up with anyone again. Ever."

He's dragging me across the room, when his mother's surprised voice cuts through my hazy thoughts and light-as-a-feather fullness in my chest. Who knew it'd ever feel this great, witnessing someone's temper break a little, the way Mal's just did?

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Parker says, smiling brightly like her son hadn't just insulted both her and her matchmaking skills. "I'm not setting you up with her. Your father knows some of her bosses. They contacted us to give word that the firm is seeking someone for a freelance contract. They're in need of a seasoned lawyer based in Portland but with a working foundation of the tri-state regional laws. Travel required. They sent Emma as their scout. I dearly hope you haven't disappointed, but the way you're talking..."

Moments later, Mrs. Parker shakes off her befuddlement. "Anyway, don't quote me, but I seem to remember Emma mentioning an ex-girlfriend." Her shrug is awkward. "You're not quite her type, Mal." Then she nods to me, laughing a little. "But B.B. on the other hand-well, isn't it funny? The way you and Emma rave about each other. That might've been a love match. If Lu hadn't gotten to you first, honey."

Mrs. Parker pats me maternally on my head. Mal's shock is obvious, but he recovers quickly, throwing me an indecipherable glance. Grams, meanwhile, is now narrowing her eyes at us both, and I'm flushing again, glancing back at Mal, who seems caught between giving me one of those hooded gazes and then trying to figure out just how sloshed his mother is to have concocted that story-but Mrs. Parker's not at all giving me the impression that she's tipsy in any way, shape, or form.

"Tri-state area?" he drawls. "Which would include-"

"New York," Grams says, a brow cocked up with clear irony, while she's eyeing me and Mal.

"Now come along." Mrs. Parker's got him by the elbow, but he doesn't need the extra push. In the next second, a grown man is hauling his mom out of the kitchen, like hellhounds are at their back. My brain's still foggy, stuck on superficial mode and the curve of Mal's ass specifically, in those slacks of his.

Grams clears her throat.

I turn my attention to her, giving this my best shot because I'm fairly sure my grandmother has now picked up on context clues. Rolling my eyes with fake nonchalance, I say, "That guy has serious control issues."

"Mmm. Hmm."

She's being difficult.

"I can clearly get home on my own, anyway," I add lamely. "But it'd be rude, right? Since he already offered."

"Manners are always nice." There's a beat where I think I'm safe, as she steps up to the sink, assessing our work.

I almost breathe a sigh of relief.

"Oh, B.B." There's concern in her eyes now, along with a question that she gives voice to, in a way that floors me. "Why is it whenever you want to do what's best for those you love, that's when all the doubts come creeping in?"

"Grams?"

She puts her arms around me, drawing me in for a small hug. "Please tread carefully, child. I don't know if you're aware...but I have been."

"What're you talking about?"

"I let it go all this time," she stops, sighing. "New York did you a lot of good, B.B. You got over things. Away from me and the Parkers, and your own parents, you flourished. Grew strong. I almost hate to have that go to waste. But I see how lonely you are. And I only hope I'm doing the right thing."

"Lonely?" I scoff. "Who's lonely?"

"B.B." She runs a hand through my hair, eyeing me seriously. "Don't play games. Not with me. You still love him."

My laugh sounds high and nervous and the total opposite of indifferent.

"Bonnie Bennett," she chides softly. "You've been crazy about him since you were at least fourteen."

"I was stupid," I mumble, evading a direct answer because it's Grams and there's seriously no force on earth that can get me to lie to this woman. "And weird. I could've gotten him in trouble-"

"When you were younger, yes. But when you left for college? All those other times you swear he broke your heart? Here's a secret, sweetie. He didn't do it just to be a jerk."

Stunned but keeping my skepticism at healthy levels, I merely stare back, quiet.

"In his own way, he was looking out for you. But also for himself. You growing up turned dangerous. That's when the trouble started. Take my word for it, B.B. Mal Parker went nutty for _you_ years ago."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, to those who celebrate.

 **Chapter XII**

Leave it to my mom to think it's a good idea, pushing for professional networking in the middle of a Parker family gathering.

"-run a dictatorship, Joshua!" Aunt Min let loose with a spray of spit. "Last I checked, if the boy can drive on his own, vote on his own, eat on his own, and piss on his own-it means you don't get a say what he does with his life. Especially now that you're about to croak!"

"Always so helpful, Minnie," said Dad evenly. "For someone who's never raised any kids herself."

A new round of bickering fills the room, while in the far corner, my nieces and nephews with their bored faces tune out the squabbling as they head back to the den and the relative safety of video games. My brother John's already joined their camp.

Meanwhile, I'm in a corner, farthest from the commotion, trying to pay attention to what the British woman's saying.

"...the firm needs people like you, Mal," here she stops, glancing around momentarily as if trying to place where the sounds of crazy are coming from. Then she shakes her head, resuming her smile at me, which is the same as it's been since we first met, except now, as I'm blinking my way to comprehension finally, I'm reading it correctly. The way it's been intended all along. Not naughty or coy, but the smile of someone trying to pitch a sale.

 _I represent good people, we'll get along, so come join us,_ it says.

She's courting me, all right-for a job.

"...senior partners are looking at filling gaps in experience to ensure the northwest expansion continues smoothly." She's giving me a card, which I take in hand, and then a firm hand shake, but not before she quirks a brow. "We understand your base is Portland and you're committed to your law group, but if your time allows, perhaps freelance consultation would be up your alley. If you're interested, the secretary will set up the meeting with our local office. Keep in mind, we would ask you to spend a few weeks for orientation at HQ."

The card finally reminds me of this scout's name.

"Right. Understood." I smile back, nodding smoothly. "Thank you, Emma. I'll be getting in touch."

A sob carries in the air.

"Must we argue at every event?" my mom's saying, sniffling dramatically. "Everyone made it home this year, your father's still alive to cook the ham for Christmas..."

She breaks down into a prolonged weep, shoulders shaking while the rest of my family ignores it, my siblings picking my dad's brain with questions about the diagnosis and the business, while Aunt Min launches into a tirade about the family house.

Emma clears her throat, starting to squirm in her power suit and heels. She starts inching her way towards the door. "Very well, then," she says, failing to mask her discomfort. "I'll leave you all to it. Thanks very much to your sister for the invite, but I must be going."

I'm walking her to the door when she stops suddenly, looking around and landing on the kitchen door swinging out at that same moment. Sheila steps into the room, trailed by B.B. One's looking grave, the other one inscrutable, and neither are putting me at any more ease just then.

My hand carrying the business card twitches in response.

"Say, Mal-"

"No," I say, unable to keep the hostility from my voice. "She's not interested. Actually, she's spoken for."

Emma shrugs. "Cheerio, then. Hear from you soon, yes?"

If she looks at B.B. that way again in my presence, maybe never.

The detachment that I've carried when it comes to most things and people is sort of a lifelong habit. Outside of family and work, there's little that I've grown attached to since it always strikes me as a waste. Weakness, maybe. I'm the kind that has more acquaintances than friends. If it weren't for the lunatics I call family-or maybe because of them?-forcing me into constant contact with them, a life of solitude would've held appeal for me.

So it's odd, how possessive I am towards B.B.

I need her. I want her, I'm going to have her, and keep her. Not that she's a toy or anything that's caught my interest and I'll get bored with later. Let's just say she's inspired a unique kind of single-mindedness on my part that I'm loathe to shed. Like any lawyer worth his salt, then, I'm gonna pursue this. Her.

The last week has been a rude awakening for me. Opened my eyes in so many ways to things that I'd buried deep in my subconscious.

B.B.'s been gone too long from my life. When she was around before, I hadn't been in any position to do anything about it. In the beginning because she was a child, and then later because she was still too young and I'm not a total bastard. While in hindsight I can see how without being fully aware of it, I must've been keeping an eye on the clock in a way-I think to keep myself sane, I'd done a good amount of digging my head in the sand, when it comes to her.

And it helped, really. Maybe her good opinion of me took a hit in the meantime, but hey, instead of coddling her, encouraging her to think that I was every inch the hero she wished for, I stripped away all those pretenses and allowed her to move on.

A bird can't fly out the tree, if one of its wing's caught on something. I read that somewhere once, and hokey as it is, it applied to B.B.

Somewhere along the way, I'd turned into an unwitting thing that hobbled her. Who needed that guilt, right?

Fast forward a few years, and now-well, things had changed. B.B. had definitely gotten the chance to spread her wings. Now that she's back, I'm not relishing the idea of letting her go again. The timing could be better, but if I take a moment to think how this is playing out, I can't be too surprised, can I?

We were always bound to happen.

Now that Lu's given his own version of a go signal, there's little in the way of us giving it a try. I'm not dwelling on our age difference; others will do that enough for us, and anyway, B.B. always was an old soul. How often when she was a teen did she surprise people, how much she caught on so quickly, the way she could read situations with little effort?

If anything, that was what always scared me.

She has a way of talking to you, relating to you, that's effortless. More importantly, it's enjoyable. If someone came along and stabbed my eyes, robbing me of the ability to see, to know what B.B. looked like, I'd still seek her out, just for the company. Which is saying a lot, since I find most people tedious.

Even people I'd been around all my life- _especially_ them. Rising voices jumping against the walls make Ro's living room feel smaller, bringing me back to the present, and the hell I'm in dire need of escaping. B.B. along with me.

"You signed up with Turner!" Dad's yelling now, face growing as red as Garrett's. They look like Irish twins, almost. "Do you have any idea the cronyism that takes place in that man's company? The least you could do is wait until I'm dead. Then go to Corvallis! Embrace the life of a corrupt, tree hugging socialist for all I care!"

Mom's sniffling, Shelley's following her lead, Livvie's tossing back a drink, Joss is rubbing the sides of her temple, and Lu's eyes are pasted on the ceiling. John's still in the den, smart guy. Ro's walking around offering drinks to the other guests who are all mostly in scattered groups pretending none of this is happening, a tactic that I wholeheartedly approve of and am on the verge of trying. At some point, the music kicks up a notch, seasonal cheery notes bouncing around the room in an effort to drown out the drama.

I see Sheila skulking away from the Bluetooth speaker, heading towards my mom.

Now or never. I find B.B. before her grandmother can change her mind. She's standing by the mantel, peering out at everyone warily. I move to join her on the other side of the fireplace, pocketing my hands as I lean sideways, keeping half my attention on the argument, the other half on her, and it's not even a fair fight there. Before long, I've abandoned watching the others and just leave myself to roaming her features.

"Remind me again, how my Grams and your dad ever became friends?" she asks while I'm staring.

"My mom?"

"Okay, how did your hippy dippy mom ever get with your dad?"

"I try not to dwell on it...not a fan of losing my appetite."

I'm leaning in now, inching closer. She's slow to smile back at me, almost reluctant, but in the next second it happens and I know I've caught her. But when I move to grab her hand, she shies away, turning instead. For the first time, I note that we're not alone in this corner of the room.

Sitting on a wingback chair is a vaguely familiar carrot-topped man. I narrow my eyes down at his sharply angled face, noting the welcoming smile B.B. is offering him. Who the fuck is this now?

"Have we met?" I ask, eyeing the red-haired man with a close eye.

"Maybe. I'm Norman. Went to school with Garrett."

"Hmm." It doesn't escape my notice, that B.B. now decides to look my way, her eyes going wide. "Where was that again? I forget, since Garrett transferred so often."

"Uh, um," Norman mumbles.

Lu arrives, from out of nowhere seemingly, patting the guy on the shoulder, easy smile in place that doesn't, strangely, do anything to lessen the stranger's discomfort. Usually Lu's got an eerie way of putting people at ease. "Oregon State," my brother says. "Go Beavers."

Norman returns a discomfited laugh, shifting nervously.

What's with that glance between Lu and B.B? I'm trying to understand their newest behavior, starting to have the insane thought that Lu's snark from earlier was on point. That B.B. and this-this _Norman_ from out of no-fucking-where are a thing in New York, and my brother's disrupted their lives? Which I then need to thank Lu for. Who knows how, but I'll find a way. And I won't hesitate to continue where he left off with disrupting this misbegotten pairing-

Who names a kid Norman, anyway? Do they not realize the seed of evil being planted there? Shit. Malachai's pushing it, but even that sounds light years better than Norman.

My plans get derailed at the sight of B.B. chewing on her lip. It's nerves, I know, but it's also reminding me of how I was doing the job for her so well, back at the kitchen sink.

"That school's breeding a generation of bleeding heart fools," grumbles Dad. "Hell, that entire city."

Norman shrugs, not appearing offended or generally caring that his school's just been dissed.

"Corvallis is amazing," Garrett argues. "It wouldn't hurt to have a new perspective, dad. Not to be insensitive, but isn't that the trendy thing to do when you're terminal? For Christ's sake, look what you got Lu doing!"

For once, I'm in agreement with my younger brother, although just perhaps mentioning Lu out of nowhere can't bode well. What is Garrett's angle now?

Lu vaults up from where he's lounging near the red-haired Oregon State Beaver. "Hey, Gare-"

"C'mon, bro, we're all dropping truth bombs. Time for yours. Tell everyone about you and B.B, seriously." Garrett gestures towards my brother, a move that somehow manages to include myself, B.B. and Norman. "Nobody but mom and dad will raise any brows, watch."

The resounding silence that follows is immediate, filling the room and if I squint, I can see thought bubbles popping up, as everyone's eyes swivel first to Lu, then B.B. And a couple skip over to me. Livvie, for one.

She raises her drink at me, smirking and holding up something tiny and green. I narrow my eyes, trying to make out what the hell she's trying to show me.

Joss clears her throat. "Know what, Gare, we have other things to worry about." The eternal voice of reason, my twin. Looking mighty desperate for the conversation to go back to normal, as she turns to my parents, lowering her voice so the other guests hovering at the edges of the room don't hear. "Dad, how sure are you about this? Did you get a second opinion? What are your treatment options? You're leaving a lot out of this picture."

Mom sighs. "These doctors now are so cold. They all say the same thing-there's nothing else to do but monitor and wait. Maybe you can talk to your father, Joss. The Tibetans embrace this concept of well-being-"

"Mom. Really. Put a lid on it." Garrett blows out a tired breath. "Look, this is important, okay? Lu needs to come home and take some of the load off Dad's back with the family business, right? In order to do that, we all need to be on the same page. Go ahead, Lu."

Aaaand there goes the awkwardness again, silent faces appraising my brother and B.B.

In the middle of this wonderful moment, Livvie whips up her hand, calling out, "Think fast!"

B.B.'s faster than me, already spinning to see what's flying, managing to duck, but I move a little late. Livvie's always had a arm to rival almost mine during high school. Her fastball special gets me right in the face, light and harmless and landing on my brow, before it drops to the floor.

"What..." B.B. trails off while I bend to retrieve.

Oh, Livvie. She's a little rascal, my sister, and right now, my favorite one to boot.

The tiny sprig of leaves is real, fresh, wrapped in a gold bow. Normally, I hate the damn things.

"Mistletoe," B.B. murmurs, tossing Livvie a glare. "Right, it would be."

Repressing a grin, I twirl it up before faces, stepping nearer.

"It's tradition, B.B."

There's an audience but to be honest, I'm barely aware of them. My sister's thrown us both a bone-hell, even Lu. Now I have an acceptable excuse to haul B.B. in my arms and claim her in front of everyone. She knows it, is taking half a step back to flee, but there's a quick movement to our left. Neither of us need to look over to know it's Lu. I don't give a shit about him. None of that matters. B.B. stays close, the anxiety that bloomed over her features seeping out, turning her face calm. Her eyes land on mine, slip down to my mouth.

I don't give her a chance to second guess. My hand's on her waist, pulling her in and when I kiss her, it stays there, keeping her arched against me while my other hand finds her jaw, to cup and stroke the soft skin there. Her mouth opens to mine. I hear her sighing, the surrender in it-fuck yes-letting the world fall away and the room and people go dim so there's only me and her.

What I've been wanting, for so goddamn long. Our kiss deepens, faces tilting in rhythm that's natural and right while our tongues keep up a leisurely round of mating. She fits; everything about her, just so with everything of mine. Her tiny frame dwarfed beneath me, the lightness of her touch calming my own frenzied grasp. I've got my hand clutching her tight against me now, her own are resting against my chest. There's a chance she's got it there ready to push me away but until then, I'm running with this. That is-until I feel it. Through her sweater, her nipples growing hard against me. Lower parts of me have already stirred. If we keep this up any longer, we'll end up giving my family and the other guests a free show.

She realizes it the same moment I do. When we break apart, it's slow, in tiny increments, our faces sharing the same shaky breath while we stare at each other.

Me? I don't know... _anything_...right now.

It happens there's a lull in the music; the chatter has absolutely died out at this point, while the entire room gapes at us.

B.B. watches me, panic growing in her gaze, but my mind's an utter blank canvas while I rub my jaw, fighting not to drag her out of the room to find somewhere that we can have solitude and quiet to finish what we've started. I need to say something-anything-some kind of throwaway glib comment here. It resonates, how much they're all waiting on me to sweep it all under the rug in my usual way.

"Guess someone's still nursing a crush," I jape, facing my family with a smirk.

Wrong. So much the wrong thing to say, I know it as it leaves my mouth, especially when my parents and most of my siblings-to a one-widen their eyes at me and stare. A few of them shake their heads a little because naturally, like a village idiot, I have risen to the occasion and well and truly screwed up.

B.B. stands like a statue, not even blinking while her eyes are frozen on me. It's when I take a step to her that she shies away. I catch Livvie rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Lu's sending a worried glance B.B.'s way, his mouth moving like a fish, nothing coming out. Partially, this is his fault. The other part is mine. I bring up a fist to my mouth, considering my next words to extricate myself from the deeper hole I've dug.

Just when I'm opening my mouth-my brother beats me to it.

"Mom, Dad," Lu says, blowing out a breath. "I'm moving back home."

Their faces grow neutral, hesitant, a glimmer of hope slow to grow.

"And also..." he stops, looking over at Norman in the corner of the room, who is now rising from his seat. "I'm not with B.B. She was just going along with one of my dumb ideas. Thought maybe with her at my side, you'd think I was more stable."

Mom goes towards B.B. She at least looks concerned for the best friend put in a weird position by my dumb brother. "Oh, honey," she said. "Is that true?"

B.B. nods, still backing away even from my mom, a look of careful apology on her expressive features. Her eyes turn slightly beseeching, as she addresses my parents. "It's as much my fault as Lu's. It shouldn't have gone this far and the timing sucked and I'm so sorry that you're sick, Mr. Parker. We didn't mean any harm. I really wish I had a spare set of organs for you." Then she cringes. "That last bit-sounded better in my head."

My dad moves towards her, patting her shoulder while his own visibly sag in clear relief. "Dumb idea is right, Lucas," he grumbles. "What were you thinking dragging B.B. into this? All you did was confuse me. Worried you'd come on board the family business struggling with identity issues."

Lu frowns. "What?"

My dad shrugs, pointing between him and Norman, who is now bowed low in his seat, looking deeply uncomfortable. "I've seen that boy around enough family events to pick up on a few things. Now it was either he's a stalker or he's seeing one of you kids. By process of elimination, I narrowed it down to you or Livvie. And Livvie-" my dad breaks off, starting to chuckle, but it quickly dies once my sister glares at him. "Well, uh, it's possible she's decided to try dating."

"It's not me," Livvie concedes begrudgingly, before adding in a huff, "But it could've been."

My mom makes a dismayed sound, scurrying over to the man whose face has gone as red as his hair. "Joshua," she cries. "You never said anything."

"Ah," my dad says, waving a hand impatiently. "That's none of our business."

Another round of quiet settles over the immediate area, but this time less awkward, since in the background I can hear low chatter from other quarters, several of the other guests now moving away from the enfolding scene now that it's clear there's no promise of a Parker brawl to enjoy. Crisis somewhat averted.

"Here I've been imagining," my mother's voice carries with notes of wistfulness. "Lucas introducing B.B. to some of the wonderful meteorological events coming up." Her smile towards B.B. is mournful. "It's a little thing we try to squeeze in, seeing the Geminids around this time of year. Don't suppose he told you?"

B.B. shrugs. "Heard about it before. But no, we had no plans." Then she lets out her nervous laugh. "I'll find a way to cope, Mrs. P."

"I won't be going back to New York anytime soon, Mom," Lu says. "Especially now, with Dad..."

"Well, at least there's that." Mom sighs deeply, then gives a sporting smile at Norman. "And how long have you and Lucas been seeing each other?"

They fall into conversation, my parents and Norman, while the rest of my siblings share a collective exhale. Who knew everyone was so invested in Lu's damn love life? I know I don't give a shit, except to pull B.B. out of it.

Nearby, Garrett throws up a hand in exasperation. "Sure," he mumbles. "Dad's all reasonable about this, but when it comes to my voter registration or my job? Nooooo."

Before he stalks out of the room, Lu stops him. "Thanks, Gare."

"You owe me." Then Garrett's glance takes in B.B. and he nods over to her also. She's still got a deer in the headlights air, all over her. "You owe her, too." And then this look of appreciation flashes over his face that I'm itching to punch away, when he strides over to B.B. "Now that your act's over, wanna go for a drink? You look how I feel, and I know a great-"

"No."

My voice is gravelly, maybe more than a little menacing as I step between them.

B.B. cuts a glare at me, then nods her head at Garrett. "I just need to get my coat and bag."

"Great," Garrett says, grinning. "Meetcha out front."

Red falls over the room, a strange curtain that I can't place until I realize it's my just me-my entire field of vision morphing as I watch the pair leave. The others have settled into lower tones of discussion, Lu and Norman with my dad, some of my other siblings and my mom doing their best to placate a still disgruntled Aunt Min. Meanwhile, Ro and Sheila are mingling with the other guests, automatically playing damage control.

It's easy, then, to slip away and track down my brother and B.B. I find Garrett first, in the den with John and the other kids, making his farewells.

He eyes me warily.

"Easy, bro. It's just drinks."

Garrett's one of those asshole charmers with the right lines to sway women into casual encounters. He's a regular at clubs and bars, and I can count on half of one hand the number of actual girlfriends he's been able to hold on to. None of them lasting more than a few months at a time.

I still remember the summer he spent with B.B. helping him through remedial classes. She's several years younger but a gazillion brain cells smarter. I don't wonder what methods he used to convince her to help. He's always been the type to sweet talk his way into things to make his life easier. The idea that it's how he tried to get her on his side all those years ago boils my blood, even though I know without a doubt B.B. had probably just given in with a simple request out of loyalty more than anything, but still...just imagining that he'd tried anything more...

I'm sick of my brothers imposing on her. _Really_ , fucking sick of it.

"Know what, Mal? B.B. doesn't belong to you." He says it matter-of-factly, pissing me off worse. "Some of us are friends with her for real without needing her to fawn over us like we're her celebrity idol."

I nod over to John, sandwiched between two of his children trying to claw each other's eyes out while he's got the video game remote in hand, busy fending off zombies on the screen. "They have sports games?" I ask.

John shrugs a distracted yes, mashing the toddlers' faces away from each other, and I realize then that the newest generation of Parkers are well on their way to being inducted into the family tradition of adversarial holidays.

"Garrett," I say lightly. "Park your ass somewhere here and play some Madden. You're not taking B.B. out for drinks, now or any night."

Garrett rolls his eyes. "What's this? The cave man era? C'mon, Mal-"

"Did you know you can survive without a spleen?" I ask, chuckling, then pretend to give it some thought. "Fun fact one. It'd take some precise cutting, but-yeah-I'd be interested in exploring that. Just haven't found the right subject to test it on."

I eye him pointedly, considering the idea in all seriousness, until the flare of annoyance in his eyes displays a clear sign that he's giving in. "You're an idiot, Mal. She's not the one carrying a torch here, if you ask me."

"Didn't ask you," I growl, turning.

"If you screw this up, it's open season on her! She might be into guys closer to her age now anyway."

"And you can also survive with just one kidney!" I call back, as I leave the den. "Fun fact two."

I don't put it past him to try to sneak his way out, so I wait a few minutes, making sure nobody leaves the den, before I make my way around the house.

When I get to the front hall, it's to find B.B. making a beeline around the corner.

"What're you doing?" I can't help asking, sounding hoarse.

B.B. stumbles into the entry table, almost knocking over a tray of pinecones and candy canes.

"Going home," she says, nervous smile in place. "Can't find Garrett anywhere, but it's fine. Think I've had enough to drink, anyway. Plus, I have to start packing." When I do nothing but gaze at her, she turns back around. "'Kay, bye."

She darts down the hall. I'm a little stunned by her actually fleeing so quickly, I even think I see a puff of smoke left behind in her wake. Jesus Christ, the woman is a lunatic, but worse, because she's contagious. Turns you into one yourself.

I follow her into the closet, where she's having an epic fight with a hanger, trying to yank her coat free.

When she sees me approach, the rapid-fire emotions chasing each other across her face is nearly comical-alarm, dread, worry, hope, longing-yes, dammit, that's the only one I want to see. Before it's all wiped away, beneath a mask of sheepish humor, as she gestures to the hanger.

"Tricky little things," she mutters, but cuts herself off when I push her roughly inside the closet, and shut the door behind us.

We're in the dark, chest to chest, I'm staring blindly out until I hear her patting the walls. "Any reason why we're hanging out in here?" she asks mildly. "Your family-"

Reaching up, I close my hand over her mouth. My other hand yanks the chain for the light, casting a soft glow around the small space. Slowly, I back her into the wall.

"I'm done talking about my family," I tell her softly, conversational even, although it truly feels like my head's about to fucking explode. "I get that you care about them. Thanks for that. But here's what's going to happen, B.B."

Lowering my hand, I replace it with my mouth, kissing her deep, my tongue sweeping across her teeth and the roof of her mouth in possessive strokes. I shove my hands under her clothes, one finding her bare breast, squeezing hard, and the other is slipping beneath the hem of her panties, finding her wet-oh, God. Without thought, I grind into her, groaning. She gasps, feeling my erection that hasn't lost enthusiasm around her.

"You're coming with me," I whisper harshly, my lips grazing her ear. "We'll fuck until we pass out, then we'll _stay_ passed out in each other's arms. _All damn night._ Do you understand?"

She slaps me. The first time, hard, making my eyes sting from the force. I whip my head back, only to get slapped a second time, then small hands push me harshly against the wall, bringing an army of coats falling to our feet.

"Understand _this_ ," she seethes. "Keep dreaming, Mal."

That one has me laughing.

"Oh, B.B. Who knew you were into rough foreplay?" I see her knee going up, read her intent to slam it into my groin, so I snake my hand up, catching her leg, then yank her to me, hauling her up. She's fighting, yet also circling my waist with her legs and it's perfect because now I can switch our places, put her back against the wall, and plunder her mouth again.

In the middle of returning my kiss with force, she bites my lip viciously. Letting her draw blood doesn't faze me-I loll the taste around, trying to sweeten our kiss with copper sharp on both our tongues.

She moans, opening her jaw wider to accommodate me. I take my opening, giving in to my need to devour her whole.

Moments later, we come up for air again, my vision swimming and B.B.'s face filling every square inch of it.

"All this fun we're having each other?" she purrs.

God, yes. I nod, dazed.

"We could've started sooner, Mal."

She angles her hips, the hint of a smirk in her face my warning. Alarms should've been blaring, but I'm panting, brainless, and she's in my arms, so no-I don't pay attention to the 'DANGER DANGER' signs.

Her legs uncoil around me; soon as her feet reach the floor, she grabs my shoulders, then pushes me away with enough force that I land backwards on the pile of coats. I'm not aware of much right now except for the urge to keep touching her. Automatically, I'm reaching, but she evades, pulling her clothes together with careless gestures.

"Been meaning to ask," she says too casually. "That blender you got me for my graduation...did you pick that up before or after you ran away from the ceremony?"

"After," I say, not even missing a beat.

She falters under my reply.

"Lu went running to you, hmm?" I pry. "Couldn't wait to share."

"No, actually. My grandmother told me. She's got this crazy idea..."

I rise slowly, advancing on her. This night's been full of surprises. Until today, I always thought I'd managed to sneak that trip to New York and back without anyone the wiser.

B.B. squints suspiciously at me.

"How long have you had the hots for me, stupid?"

Well, fuck it. Might as well go for broke now.

"The politically correct answer is...since you were legal."

"Oh, my God," comes out in a tiny whisper, almost mute. She covers her eyes and her cheeks, the complete appearance of frustration.

I gulp down my bout of nerves, throwing out the first question that hits me, which happens to be inane. "Did you like it? Your blender."

"Oh, sure. Top of the line Ninja. The way to a girl's heart."

"Great." I lean my head down against hers, closing my eyes briefly with regret while I think of her real present that's still in my clothes dresser. "Figured after that night you turned twenty-one, you'd appreciate making your own drinks and going wild in the comfort of your pajamas."

We're quiet, resting our faces towards each other. The atmosphere changes into something less confrontational, more open. She's yielding a little, thank God.

Her hand goes up, stroking my jaw while I stare intently down into green orbs that turn smokier when I angle my head sideways to press a kiss into her palm.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "With the mistletoe-what I said to everyone-"

"Doesn't matter." Her hand drops away. "Nothing new, anyway, them thinking I'm still stuck on you."

"Are you?"

My question barely makes it out, but once it's between us, I tighten my jaw, seeing her features turn inscrutable. Her teeth chew into her bottom lip, her eyes going half-lidded.

"No," she whispers, slowly tucking my shirt out of my pants and undoing my belt.

I watch her movements like I'm not in my body, have no control over anything. When she kisses me, I don't think, just let her in, and it's nothing I haven't thought of countless times before, only to hide in the deepest corners of my brain because for a while-just thinking this was so damn wrong. But when her hand shoves my pants down, I shake my head, registering, finally-this is real.

Then it kicks in. I play catch-up, tugging her jeans off. Little electric shocks hit me, where my fingers catch her bare hips and waist and thighs. When she unzips my pants all the way, setting me free, her hand skims me teasingly, raking her nails down my length and cupping my balls to squeeze.

 _Dammit._ I swallow, shutting my eyes momentarily, willing myself to resist.

"It wasn't supposed to be here, not like this."

"Condom?" is all she asks.

Resistance is futile, under those two syllables. Keeping her pinned with my hips and one hand, I use the other to swipe my wallet from my back pocket. I don't know if she's getting interesting ideas in her head, so after I sneak another open-mouthed searing kiss, I pull away to confess, "It's been in my wallet for almost a year."

But that gets no reply.

She's leaning her head back, keeping her hooded gaze on me while she deftly slides the thin rubber over my length, inch by slow inch, stroking me along the way. I'm breathing hard just watching her do this; it's a damn near-death experience, having B.B. put my condom on. Blood's pulsing between my ears, everything's going cloudy. My dick twitches violently at her touch and the thought of this, now, happening.

I slide my fingers under the hem of her panties again, pulling them down. She shifts, splaying her thighs wider, giving me permission. Silky legs wrap around my hips, sending our combined musk drifting up to my nose. Inhaling the air like a maniac, I forget myself again when I yank her sweater and bra off one shoulder, ripping off a corner to bare her breast. A large brown areola peeks out, stiff, aching to be sucked, so I accommodate, while my fingers trail beneath her breasts, down her torso and belly, and lower still.

Air's lodged in my throat, while I stare down at her. In the dim light, the sprinkle of sweat across her forehead and nose makes her golden skin glow more. New beads break out, when the tip of me grazes her slit, resting there.

She yanks my hair back.

"Argh," I growl. "Just let me-dammit-let me savor this a little. I've waited a long time."

In her gaze flashes a look- _'Oh, you?_ _ **You've**_ _waited?'_ But her tiny scoff turns into a full moan when I push all the way in, her hips bucking to take me in more.

 _Oh, God._

She's tight, warm, moist, and this is heaven and hell both, wrapped around me, keeping me torn between the need to move and get us both to desperate release, and the desire to have this moment here last for all time. I bury my face against her neck and her hair, biting down and breathing her in and letting my want for this woman out. Years of it repressed, buried deep, since at least the night when she crouched beside me filing case documents on my parents' living room floor, offering me a glimpse of her mind even while I tried hard not to notice her body; which turned impossible later, that same night in the rain, with her damp curves pressed against me on my old bike.

"So-damn-long, Bonnie," I groan, punctuating my words with deep, slow thrusts.

My hands cup her ass, molding them tightly and rolling her groin harder against mine. For long minutes, it's all we do, this primal slide into each other, swallowing shared gasps and groans in our mouths. Sloppy, frenzied kisses mark our descent into madness, here in this closet. She's coating me, turning me slick where we're joined. I could black out right now, just like this, in this tight little nirvana I've found burying myself inside this woman.

"Why-" she moans against my mouth when I grip her hips tight and crash into her, to the hilt. "Do you call me that?"

"Why not?"

She bites her lip again, some kind of volcano threatening to erupt there in the center of her pupils, while my hand kneads her breast in time with our thrusts.

"Nobody else does."

"Beautiful," I murmur low, need in my voice while I hold her gaze and still myself just then, completely. "No other name for you. Bonnie."

She squeezes her thighs, her eyes hazy while her hands reach up to grab the bar spanning the length of the coat closet. When she has her grip, she lifts up and slams herself down on me, moving unbridled, wanton, better than what I've fantasized these past few years, in those rare moments where I was honest with myself, and put a name and a face to my dreams. I can't tell what's the best part-that we're both done lying to ourselves and to each other, or that it's happening-finally-not where I wanted or planned, but just further proof that like me, she can't help herself.

Our bucking turns frantic, our bodies hitting the wall hard. I try to slow us, to quiet it, but B.B. grows louder instead, so I cover her mouth with a hand, keeping my eyes on hers while I pump harder, faster, until I feel that familiar sweet pulsing start low in my back. Our sweat mingles, my mouth finds hers just as she's whimpering my name. She throws her head forward against my shoulder, eyes falling shut as she shudders, her orgasm an erratic beat around my length.

I slam into her, crazed, shaking the walls around us. Who the hell cares if everyone hears? is my distant thought, as I pump wildly. B.B. cries out, biting down hard on my skin-that right there gets me. My eyes roll back as I pound hard enough that she's bouncing a few inches up from my arms as her legs beat against my back, flailing wildly. Seconds later, I throb violently inside her, prolonged, intense, un _fucking_ believable, meeting with her aftershocks.

A minute later, our manic breathing slows.

"Now I can die happy," I manage.

"Night's still young," she replies in spent tones. "Lots of chances for you to drive me to murder, Mal."

Hopefully not before I get a chance to kiss her again, and with that thought, I lean in, about to get another taste of her-

When a knock sounds, rapping firm and rushed.

"Hey!"

It's Livvie.

"Wrap it up, idiots! Or do you _want_ everyone catching you and turning Mal into a eunuch?!"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:**

More **M** in this. Forgot to add it last chapter. For those of you asking about the age difference, in this timeline B.B. is 23-24 and Mal's not yet 40. Enjoy!

 **Chapter XIII**

No sooner does Livvie's warning reach us than B.B. and I hear the others join my sister.

"What on earth was all that racket?" my mom's voice carries from the hall.

"Uhhhh..." Livvie's stymied for a few seconds, where I remember that she hasn't acted much like herself this entire night. Normally she's never at a loss for words even when a lie is required.

"Possums," she says eventually.

"What?" Lu-great. Of course. Sounding none too gullible, either. Fuuuuck.

"Yeaaaah. I just came from outside, caught 'em going at it."

"Possums?" That's Ro. "Ugh, you know what? It's those damn neighbors. The ones that moved and never take out their trash in time. Fucking slobs. Ima go over there right now..."

"Wait a minute, Ro, hang on-"

My dad's trying to calm my sister, but when she's on a mission it's a long shot. Great if Ro's off to kick some neighborly ass. Should be good. Lengthy. Enough time for me and B.B. to skedaddle.

We hear a tiny stampede ensure, where I'm counting footsteps and hearing potentially half my family leave. Then the front door slams. B.B.'s head is moving left to right, her face covered, her shoulders are shaking, so I freeze. Not sure if it's shame or she's crying or what the hell I'm supposed to do if it's that the mental asylum refugees that I call family have pushed this woman to her limit-

 _Snort._

"Oh!" She looks up, eyes wide when she looks up at me, mirth shining out. "That...wasn't me."

She's laughing. I exhale slowly, figuring now's a bad time to unclothe her and go at it again. That's pushing it, I think-but goddamn. I can't help it. Here I thought I'd be in time-out for the rest of the night or something after my mistletoe mishap, and I end up having the best sex of my life with this woman. Now my intrusive family from hell who hasn't left her alone for the last thirteen years still won't go away at the worst possible time...and while I'm entertaining plans of their massacre, Charlie Manson style-she's laughing.

I'm not letting B.B. go.

"You're wonderful," slips out my mouth, without thought or effort.

Her eyes go even wider but only briefly before I note the way it turns analytical, squinty. "In what way are you talking?" Then she slaps her head. "Oh God, what am I saying? Mal, we have to _leave_."

B.B. shoves me, hurriedly dressing; I follow suit, wondering if I should elaborate now but she seems concentrated on escape so I should be too. Plus she did threaten to kill me earlier. It's in my best interest not to push any of B.B.'s homicidal buttons now, especially when it looks like we're only just getting started with...

Things. Is the most apt way to put it. Now's the wrong time to ponder it with a fine tooth comb.

"Turn it off, Mal," she mutters, turning the knob carefully, peeking outside.

"What?" I ask, my breath moving her hair when I move close behind her.

"Your litigation brain. I can _feel_ you thinking too hard."

Again, I can't help my hands finding her waist. "Sorry. It's automatic." And so is my response to her, being this near.

"Come on," she urges, slapping my hand away.

Minutes later, we're skulking out of the powder room, heading towards the cubbyhole with all the keys when she stops us. When I turn, her hair's in disarray, her eyes bright with that light of well-fucked that I'm pretty sure is a reflection of my own, judging by how she bites down on a smile and looks quickly over my shoulder.

"I need to go," is all she says.

"Yes. Far away from my family, before you make any other rash decisions. Like, say, offer to give up your firstborn to keep the peace."

They all love her, and it's vice versa, but I can't help thinking they're also a huge obstacle, and her trusty crutch, the buffer to keep our conversations and encounters safe, familiar, and easy. I've spent the last week scrambling for a way out of this corner she's been trying to keep us in. Granted, she's just caved somewhat, left a little opening, but I don't have any brighter idea at the moment to make the most of the opportunity, except for escape. _Together._ Her use of the pronoun "I" just now tells me she's trying to undo that opening.

So I pull her along, and luckily, she offers no resistance.

Party chatter from the remaining guests in the main room follows us. We're halfway to the front door when Lu appears, pulling us short, Livvie stumbling behind him.

"Where have you two been?" he demands with the type of suspicious, proprietary air that I'd expect from B.B.'s father, while his gaze on her holds notes of caution.

 _Too late_ , I want to crow. So fucking bad. Despite all his efforts, she and I are long past gone, the single taste we've had of each other no longer enough, and if everyone can get out of our way, we can repeat the experience fairly soon, I know.

But what the hell does my own brother think will happen here? He's acting like I'm a convict looking to plot my next victim's demise. I'm not planning on mauling B.B.-unless she asks me to.

She's not paying attention to him, though; instead, she nods to Livvie. "You need to get her home. She can't drive."

"Such a girl scout," Livvie mumbles, but it's without rancor, and there's even a hint of exasperation mixed with something benign there-odd, seeing that on my sister, who has never ever looked so relaxed for as long as I've known her. Then earlier, with the mistletoe throw to me...who knew she could play Cupid so well? Or that she even noticed?

But I guess there's a reason she's moved up the ranks in her precinct.

"B.B..." I narrow my gaze at Livvie, still looking unnaturally mellow. "You didn't mention you had a partner-in-crime."

"Partner?" B.B. scoffs. "No. Dealer, yes."

Lu hasn't once stopped skewering me with his hairy eyeball.

"Giving off negative vibes, little brother," I tsk, shaking my finger. "What's wrong? Too much family time? Think of this as practice, Lucas. Your chance to shine as a big boy. With big boy problems. You've got Norman anyhow, which by the way, never thought I'd see the day you'd go poaching from Garrett's pool of friends."

"Mm. Same could be said of you with my friends, _Malachai_. Mind your Ps and Qs. I know where to find you."

"Might wanna keep your distance tonight," I say under my breath, this time in all seriousness. I really just need people to stay the hell away from both me and B.B. for the next day or so until she leaves. Is it too damn much to ask?

"Ro's about to get into it with the asshole next door," Lu replies. "Over some damn possums. Wanna tell me why you the lawyer can't step out and shed a little reason on the situation?"

I'm about to laugh it off when out of nowhere B.B. shoves a finger against my brother's chest. "Lucas Parker," she says, none too friendly. "You back way the hell up. _He_ isn't a cop. Livvie is. Go flash her badge or something, or," here her anger dissipates while she gives it some thought. "Oh! Give Ro some more coquitos."

She's looking at me like she's trying to recruit me into campaigning for that but I'm still processing how she's just played my knight in shining armor. Against Lu. Her bosom buddy. Lifelong soul brother from another mother or however it is Lu always tries to make it sound. Here she is defending me in front of him, while less than half an hour ago, I'd thrown her under the bus to trivialize a public display of _something_ between us-which I myself had instigated-by using her old crush as an excuse.

I was accusing her of trying to find escape latches-but here I am not much better. Pretty fucking worse, actually.

Why hasn't she demanded any explanations? This is more forgiveness than I deserve. My gut doesn't trust it. She and I need to be alone, to talk properly.

Turning to Livvie, I say, "I need a car," Taking the light rail to get from my apartment to the office and from the office to Ro's seemed like a good idea at the time, since we're all close enough that I usually use the MAX to get around.

But tonight with B.B. I don't want to waste any time waiting on mass transportation.

"All our cars are blocked by the guests. Take the bike. Ro's got it in the garage."

Sliding a quick glance at B.B. and realizing she hasn't heard, I swipe the keys without any further comment. Soon, we're outside, trekking through the short path leading to the set of garages for the complex. Ro's is on the end on the near side. When it slides up, B.B. frowns while she peers in through the growing opening.

I bite my lip, counting. Three, two, one...

"Uh-uh," she says, once it hits her.

My old bike sits in one corner, behind my brother-in-law's car. Both are in pristine shape because he's the type that likes tinkering. Both vehicles are probably in better driving condition than most of the newer ones on the road.

"Lu said you got rid of it!" she points out, a little uselessly.

"I did, Ro's hubbie's a fanatic and offered to take it off my hands at a pretty penny. I mean, obviously, I gave him a discount because-" I stop, gesturing impatiently, "Family."

"When's the last time you rode it?"

"I didn't forget how to operate a bike, if that's what you're really asking." I keep my voice calm, stopping directly in front of her so she knows up close how serious I am. "Look, B.B. We won't go more than thirty miles an hour. We're not going far, we'll stay on local roads, and I swear I won't risk you getting hurt."

There's hesitancy and a world of skepticism as she tilts her head back at me. "Okay," I say lightly, lifting my hands up to let her know I'm choosing my battles, and this won't be one of them. "How about let's take the MAX. Service might be a little slower-"

"Where's the damn helmet?" she mutters, shouldering past me to stand by the bike.

Belligerent B.B. is back. Joy. I'm close to asking if she's got any more of my mom's special cookies, since it's looking more and more like I might need a hit.

The way she's fumbling with the straps of the helmet gives me hope, that it's just nerves on her part because this probably takes her back to the last time I gave her a ride. A night that didn't end on a bright note for us. Mostly since, if I remember right, I'd gone out of my way to make her feel small and foolish. My go-to tactics when it came to her and our exchanges, back when she was younger. Off-limits.

"Here," I offer, taking over and buckling under her chin, caressing her jaw along the way. Through the opened visor, she's avoiding meeting my eyes, giving me a hint of the uphill battle I have in store.

"So much for releasing our tension," I quip. "I guess we're one of those types, with an endless supply of it."

"Types of what, Mal?" she asks, nonchalant. "A lovesick schoolgirl and her obsession? Or am I old enough now that we can graduate to sex buddies?"

"Not a fan of that term," I say, but move close and stroke her cheeks, knowing I deserve her cruelty and more, but hoping-and knowing-she's too good to keep trying to kick where it hurts. Or maybe not.

"There's a cruder one available," she shoots back, closing her visor.

Judging by her souring mood, maybe the bike isn't the greatest idea, but it's what's available and at least we're both bundled up enough to make a ride tolerable, the short distance we'll be going. Anyway, we'll keep each other warm. I perch on it, comfortable, my own helmet resting on my lap as I wait while B.B. approaches slowly. Rudolph's frayed antlers peek out from between the edges of her coat, drawing out my smile.

When she slides in behind me, this time she doesn't need prompting to put her body flush against mine. Her arms wrap snugly around my waist and I feel every soft curve of hers. My smile dies in the best possible way, replaced by tightness that hits right in my groin, traveling up to my throat.

Years ago, I'd felt this for the first time around her, _because_ of her, and done my best to bury it. Now I'll be damned if I let the moment pass; my hand strokes hers, sliding down to find her thigh, and when I squeeze it's with promise that later, I plan on exploring a lot more fully.

In true B.B. fashion, she slaps my hand away, pinching my own thigh more out of spite than arousal. I laugh.

"You better concentrate." Her voice against is low, trying to sound waspish but coming across more sultry than anything.

"Oh ye, of little faith," I toss back, putting my own helmet on and breathing in deeply because this fucking feels right. The bike, this woman, the whole rest of the night to ourselves.

Portland has a few holiday lights traditions. Growing up, our parents dragged us to everyone, until we were old enough to dig in our heels and resist the corny. Only Shelley to this day still goes with our parents, but at least she has the excuse of being a mom now herself and having kids of her own to inflict holiday trauma on. But me, I avoid tourist traps like these for the most part.

Except tonight, some rare whim has me turning into the speedway that hosts the lights extravaganza. After we pull up to buy the entrance ticket, I find the line is shorter tonight than most others. We don't have to wait long to drive through, and open both our visors before we enter.

The entire raceway's decked out with lights, and there's a slim motorcade of cars in a slow line around the enormous track, going around at a crawl. Families in minivans, couples in sports coupes. A few have their windows rolled down, blaring Christmas music yet again. For once, I don't mind, especially when I feel B.B.'s hands wrap more firmly around me as she turns in her seat, taking in the display.

"I haven't been here in years," she says. "Last time was when we were all in Joss's van, Lu and I were in the back-"

"And he puked in the corner, after downing one too many shots of bourbon he stole from my dad's cabinet. Yep. _That_ memory's never gonna dim. I can still smell the burrito the genius decided to pair with his shots, even now."

"Gross." Her soft laughter carries. "You were so mad. Why'd you even bother going?"

That was the Christmas before she and my brother headed east for college, the time when being around her subconsciously started disturbing my equilibrium in a profound way. In hindsight, I can now be truthful.

"Why do you think?" and somehow I let that out managing to sound glib.

"Well, why are we here now?"

My deep exhale is borne of sheer aggravation. "Because you're a Bennett, wired to appreciate light shows, and I thought this was one of your favorites, but now I think I was better off taking you to a funeral."

"There's no funeral this late."

"Night's still young," I singsong, tossing her earlier words back at her. "And there's a first time for everything."

She's going to drive _me_ to murder.

An arch of rainbow LED lights hangs overhead, massive and spanning the length of what looks like an artificial bridge in the middle of the track. As we pass beneath it, B.B. leans in again.

"While we're here and since I am a certified educator," she mentions, far too lightly now, spurring the start of a migraine. "Can I just take this opportunity for a teaching moment and let you know that it's a good idea to regularly replace condoms kept in your wallet?"

"B.B..." I shake my head.

"No, really, I'm serious. It breaks down, too much movement and exposure to extreme temperatures. I'm just mentioning it, for next time you meet a woman-"

"Stop. Way to promote the mood here, B.B."

"Okay, sorry, just take it as FYI and for science, then."

"There was nothing wrong with the one we used, okay? It wasn't even expired."

"Well, I'm on the pill, anyway. And I'm clean."

"So am I." But now that we're on the topic which she brought up herself, I clear my throat, and ask, "Out of curiosity and ya know, _for science_ -any particular type of rubber you prefer?"

She pinches me hard, right in my abdomen, enough to draw blood, I think. She'd probably pinch even harder if she knew how wide my grin just got, as we coast towards the track exit.

There's a coffee shop nearby that I frequent. I pull in there, grab two cups for us, and offer hers out with a pointed look.

"Making sure I can't blame your mom's cookies for any more bad choices tonight?" she asks dryly. "Don't worry. I will fully own up to our hook up in the closet."

Her choice of words shouldn't get to me, but my jaw turns hard, seeing her sticking to this angle; this _will_ be a fight.

She's leaning against the bike, staring out at the street. We're in a section of downtown that's got more of a Euro flavor, with al fresco eateries and cast iron streetlamps decked out with wreaths. Strands of subtle lights line the streets here, and people stroll along, not leisurely like tourists, but friendly, at least, and not snooty if there were any tourists happening to be in the area. The natives here are free spirits, or at least strike me as such. As I look at B.B.'s face I can't help the thought that she'd like this neighborhood.

"Powell's is close by," I point out, hoping the mention of her favorite book store might spawn a trip there.

But she just sips at her coffee, avoiding my gaze again. We're back to that. "So is your place," she says, then freezes, realizing how that comment can be misinterpreted.

I have to smother my laugh, and the urge to kiss her.

"I'm flattered," I tell her, nudging her shoulder. "You know where I live. Here I thought it was just me keeping tabs."

"Not keeping tabs. I know the area a little. Plus, your mom and Joss did invite me when they threw you the housewarming. Those invitations, just so you know?" she adds, leaning in to mock whisper, her perfume carrying to my nose. "Usually have an address."

"Mmm." I'm inhaling it, the scent and warmth of this woman, failing pretty hard at not being obvious. "Shame you never made it, tell me again why you ended up being a no-show?"

"My flight got delayed. Not my fault."

Another example of our many misses. The following day when she did arrive in town, I was already halfway across the country on a flight to Atlanta on business. There were so many instances of it in the last couple years, I can't help but be suspicious. "A little too pat, though, isn't it? All those times we _just_ bypassed each other?"

She shrugs. "It happens."

"It's almost enough to give a guy a complex. You can't have been avoiding me all these years, right? Except, waaait-" I pull myself off the bike, chucking my empty cup in the bin, and saunter lazily back to stand right in front of her. "You _were_. That day I was at your grandmother's, you hid somewhere in the house, listening in on me and John. Why would you do that, B.B?"

"Simple enough," she replies, bristling. "I didn't want to see you."

"Pfft. Really? You expect me to buy that?"

"Strange how much I don't care if you do or don't."

She moves up and away, disappearing inside the cafe. I track her the entire time, just in case she decides to run. I wouldn't put it past her. A man waiting for his order's got his eye on B.B. Terrific. Yet another distraction we don't need at the moment. She's at the counter, adding a packet of sugar when he joins her, and I can see the wheels spinning in his head, can almost tell the precise second he decides she's worth whatever pick up line he's got reserved.

He goes for it. She turns to him; through the window I note her automatic smile-the friendly one, that she wears for strangers even like this douche bag now. He leans in closer, encouraged enough that his hand is up, about to touch her elbow at the same moment his own grin becomes cocky.

I don't exactly know how, but suddenly I'm inside also, standing at the entrance and waiting on B.B. Not at all subtle. Whatever's on my face, it's enough to kill Douche Bag's smile. He stares at me-we're about the same height and build, but I'm plenty confident if he doesn't back the fuck off, I'll be motivated enough that bashing his head against the nearest wall's an easy feat.

There's a half second where I figure that's what I'll end up needing to do, based on how slow he is to move away, but then he thinks better, retreating with a last cool look at me before he murmurs something to B.B. She barely pays him any attention, busy as she is glowering up at me.

 _What are you doing?_ nearly escapes my mouth, only I have no business making such demands on her like that. She's not one of those women who go around unaware that a man's trying to get her number; as insane as it is, though, she is one of those types that will try, if he's not an asshole, to put him at ease about it. Why I know this? Because that's what she does-she's a facilitator. Whatever can be done to make other people's lives easier, there's B.B. volunteering for the job. It's one of her best and worst qualities; someone somewhere's having a laugh about this exquisite creature walking around acting like she was built to please everyone; utterly new to the idea of just pleasing herself. Although maybe...that might have changed a little.

New York can do that to people.

" _What_ was that?" she asks through the side of her mouth, shrugging off my hand on her back as we make our way over to the bike again.

"Weeding out the riff-raff."

"Funny, Mal, how age has made you crotchety. You didn't have a problem with people getting friendly at the coffee counter before."

"What're you talking about?"

"Last time you took me to a coffee shop, you played the riff raff yourself. Only the cashier didn't have someone to throw you any dirty looks and scare you off."

Holy shit. She's keeping tally, and here I am at a total loss. I can't for the life of me even remember what the hell...she's...talking...

A series of images flash through my head. From years and years ago. The summer of Garrett's third and final summer school session, when I'd caught B.B. helping him, and then proceeded to deliver some hard truths to her about-shit-tough love. No. She can't be talking about _that..._ can she? Shit shit _shit_. The coffee shop barista. The flirting. My own attempt to nip B.B.'s crush on me in the bud.

Tough love indeed.

Wracking my brain to find the right words takes too long. B.B. finishes her own coffee in record time, and when she's done, tosses it in the trash and slides back into the seat, irritably. "Take me home."

Right now, I won't argue it, don't trust myself to reply in case I end up losing my cool any worse. What's simmering beneath her abrupt temper needs an outlet, but if I say the wrong thing, she'll latch on to that and turn this whole night into a bust. So I don't give in to my own growing ill humor, no matter how badly I want to.

How's this even fair? It was a decade ago. Can she use that against me, or isn't there a statute of limitations on this stuff-not to mention, _I was doing the right thing_.

She's crazy.

The rest of the ride, I'm only aware of a growing distance despite how tightly her arms clench around me. Her front is pressed snugly to my back and we're warming each other all right, but it it's direct contrast to the invisible arctic wall between us. She's murdering me with the silence. By the time we turn into Sheila's street, I'm almost disappointed her grandmother's car isn't yet back in the driveway.

 _Almost._ Because in the end, I abhor quitting. The fact that it's B.B. only multiplies the feeling to the nth level.

The air's turned cooler now, enough that tiny flurries are making their appearance. I park in the driveway, watching B.B. slide out quickly and exhale a tiny relieved breath. I scoff quietly to myself before something registers about her grandmother's house.

"Thought you said Lu finished up the lights," I tell her, nodding up at the darkness. "Why isn't it on?"

"It was last night. Maybe Grams left it off?"

We glance at each other skeptically, then she's muttering under her breath and I leave the bike to follow her inside. Sheila Bennett's Christmas lights are eternally on during December, rain or shine, morning and night. She's the electric company's best friend this time of the year. She doesn't do 'off' when it comes to her display.

"Possibly just a loose connection," I say, already eyeing the string of lights along the exterior.

Once we're inside, I make quick work of getting to the main panel, double checking the work Lu's done. Inside's clear; outside doesn't take me more than a few minutes before I see the culprit-loosened wire, probably trampled on by a stray animal. I tighten it, secure it with tape, and then B.B. turns it all back on.

Standing before her grandmother's cottage, we look up at nearly every square inch of the cozy ranch house covered in lights, even the bushes nearby are rigged out, and the trunks of the trees peppering the lawn. There's a penguin and a snowman hanging out on the porch, beneath the icicle lights, and a LED-backlit Santa perches on his sleigh atop Sheila's roof, multi-colored chasers framing the scene.

Involuntarily, I cringe.

B.B. catches it when she turns to thank me, then shoves my shoulder in rebuke, earning my laugh.

"Grams just texted," she said. "Your dad's still at Ro's with the rest of your family."

"Did it turn into a Jerry Springer fight with the neighbor?"

"No, but your aunt now has them hostage, going over the finer points of your dad's will."

"Jesus," I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Oh, and your mom roped Grams into a game of Mah-jongg.

Now I snort. "One game will turn into ten."

"Yeah." She's shoving her hands in her pockets, squinting up again at the lights and looking just slightly wistful. "It was supposed to be movie night, but I think your mom needs her more."

"Screw that, B.B." Now I'm annoyed, for her sake. "Call your grandmother. Tell her to come home. You're leaving in two days. My mom has her all the time."

She rolls her eyes. "Please, it's no big deal. I can do movie night on my own."

"What movie?"

Her laugh comes out a little surprised, like it doesn't occur to her why I'd be interested. _"Gremlins."_

"Okay." I flash my brightest grin. "You talked me into it."

"What?" she sputters.

This is perfect. A tidy, wonderful gift wrapped in ribbon. "Got enough popcorn?"

"Wait, Mal-"

But I'm already guiding the bike past the driveway, through the path along the side of the house and towards the back storage shed. The garage is packed, I remember, with the spare clunker Sheila keeps on occasion taking up half the room, and the rest the space occupied with other things she's accumulated over the years. She's a collector and as such, the storage shed at the rear is large, roomy, and serves as a free standing garage on its own.

Plus, it's neat and roomy in comparison.

B.B. is still protesting even after I've parked the bike. In the darkened space, I can barely make out her face except her eyes, wide and slightly panicked.

"It's late," she blurts out. "You have work tomorrow."

"Eh," I say, shrugging. "I haven't taken any sick days in years, think I'm long past due."

The panic in her gaze grows, though she only stares mutely back. Outside the shed, the snow's coming down faster, flurries growing into larger, heavier flecks that coat the ground a little more thickly.

"Looks like we made it just in the nick of time," I drawl, moving forward.

She's still got the helmet; now she dashes away from me, hefting it onto one of the handlebars.

"It's passing," she replies, distracted. "None of the forecasts mentioned a storm."

Before she can even turn, I push forward, crowding her space.

"Serendipitous," I murmur, brushing her hair. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Slowly, her eyes close. One of her hands finds my chest, pushing automatically.

"W-we shouldn't-"

"We did already," I remind her, my fingers finding her jaw, cupping it and trying to soften its stubborn tilt. "C'mon, B.B. We've wasted enough time."

"What makes you think this still isn't wasting it?" she asks softly.

And now it snaps, the taut line of my temper. I grab her waist, haul her onto the bike, and capture her mouth, swallowing her words mid-sentence, my tongue swiping hers harshly. She's struggling on the bike, her ass firm on the seat and kept in place by my hands. Even though she's clawing at my chest, I keep standing between her legs, insistent because even now, she's still trying to go backwards.

Slowly, she stops resisting, lapping her tongue with mine, her touch growing less frantic and more exploratory. Her fingers graze my jaw, cupping it before they skim lower, over and around my shoulders and squeezing down my arms before she finds my chest again. She works the buttons on my shirt, slipping her hands through to get to my skin.

"Aah gah," I groan, half laughing. "Cold."

"Good," she grumbles.

But I shake my head, egging her on, grinning against her lips. Her hands rub my back, wrap over my shoulders, nails scraping-feels amazing and like she's done it for years. She arches into me when I lower my mouth to her neck and collar, dipping kisses into the valley of her breast beneath the sweater I've tugged partially off her shoulder. In return, she unbuckles my pants, slides under the waistband of my boxers, letting her knuckles tease my erection.

"Not here," I whisper hoarsely. "Come on, B.B. Are you trying to enact soft core with me? I _waited_ , you know?"

Her laughter bubbles out.

She's partially laying against the seat now, her eyes hazy with lust and amusement. B.B. on the bike, in a partial state of undress, with her thighs gripping either side of mine. I have to close my eyes against it, and get my twitching dick under control. I'm not a sixteen year old virgin, dammit.

"But," and here I swallow, brushing my thumb against her mouth, swollen from my attention. "I'm not against the idea, so we're clear. We can try sex on a bike. Raincheck, maybe?"

"Why not now?" she asks, all kinds of sultry in her voice that screws up my higher reasoning function. To prove her point, she then squeezes her thighs, pushing our hips together in a way that has me cursing.

I grind into her on instinct, both of us groaning in unison, then kiss her once, hard and bruising, rubbing my hand against the apex of her jeans, where it's warm, damp-aww hell -and waiting, and she rotates _just_ the right way into my touch. "Oh, fuck, don't-" I pull away reluctantly, shaking my head. "B.B. Don't spoil movie night."

"I'm going to hurt you, Mal," she breathes. "I don't give a rat's ass about movie night right now."

Then she's up and on her way out, her footsteps leaving marks on the barely there snow frosting the ground. I'm following, calling out in total confusion when she throws her hand back.

"Stay!" she hisses.

It doesn't last more than a minute, tops, before she's back. She has a tiny portable heater in one hand and two familiar looking small packages in another. The heater, she plugs into the lone outlet in the shed. She stomps determinedly back inside, closing the storage shed securely, locking us in, making her way back to the bike with her lower lip tucked expectantly under her teeth-holding out another condom.

What can a man do, in the face of all that?

-x-O-x-

At first, he's not romantic or sexy or even apparently, all that willing. No. Mal's _worrying_. Like a little old lady, muttering about center stands and gravity, and the risk of heated pipes and other things that go over my head. So I just strip, matter-of-fact and annoyed now, because damn him-as much as he keeps saying _he's_ waited?

I've got him beat by a landslide. And anyway, I'm not one hundred percent sure I believe the Kool-Aid he and my grandmother are trying to sell, when it comes to reciprocal feelings. My infatuation was years in the brewing and well-documented. His is only just now being addressed, at a time in his life when he's steeped in family turmoil. It's too...pat.

But it won't stop me from doing this. It's when I'm in nothing but my panties and sweater that I cock my brow and lean against the wall of the shed, crossing my arms while he's got his back turned, switching the engine back on even while he's still grumbling under his breath.

The stupid cookies are out of my system at this point, as are the glasses of coquitos. I have no outs when it comes to my questionable choices for the night. But I'm just so tired of refusing myself, and it's Mal. For all that he can be such a dick in public, and no matter how much I don't want to give excuses...I understand where his headspace is at. Perplexed. Torn between old habits-shaming me about my feelings for him, and new urges-ravaging me at any and all inopportune moments.

I shouldn't give in, this I know. But I'll be gone in less than two days anyway; maybe this is all for the best.

I need to feel him again, one last time. That's all.

If we ever get around to this. The one thing we have going for us is the portable heater-at least we won't be freezing our asses off.

When he turns around, the air- _swoosh_ -shifts. He freezes in place, his eyes stuck first on my bare legs, before they travel slowly up to trap for a couple seconds on where the tiny hints of green lace around my hips peek out, then up again to Rudolph's nose resting between my breasts, and then finally to my face.

His Adam's apple bobs up, down, up and down, for several quiet beats.

"Your pants?" he manages.

When I slowly peel myself off the wall, his eyes are tracking me. Suddenly, I'm glad for my addiction to carbs and the curves that I occasionally bemoan feel good, right about now, under his eyes that are more black than gray the longer he stares.

Okay. How the hell have I missed this for so long? Or have I just been that witted when I'm around him?

"Well, usually at times like these," I say. "Pants are optional."

I barely make it to the bike. He's got me pressed against the handlebars, his grip hard and keeping me in place on the seat where the vibration's doing interesting things to me already, combined with the look on his face.

"Skimpy green lace," he says, fingering the hem of my panties. "Tattered little reindeer on your chest." Now his voice is husky, his hold on me tight and possessive, and the little old lady he was channeling is gone-poof-hopefully never to make a return. "You're like walking and talking Christmas porn, B.B. Right here under my nose. All for the taking."

Now it's my turn to draw in a shuddering breath, while he's still fully dressed before me and heating my skin with teasing little touches.

"All yours," I hear myself say, just like one of those women in a porno-what in the hell is wrong with me?

He leans forward, one brow quirked. I grimace, scrunching my nose, shaking my head from a dire need to backtrack.

"I-I mean-"

"No, just leave it at that," he says, sliding his face over my chest while his hands reach under and his fingers trail along the dip of my waist and hips. He brushes against my breasts, humming in approval when he finds no bra there. Rare gift of foresight on my part, when I'd spared a few seconds to divest myself of it during my spur-of-the-moment run for the heater and condoms.

"Feeling's mutual," he adds. "For what it's worth."

"Mal-"

"This is kind of a risky position here. Which means not only that you trust me-a lot, but also that I'm committed enough to giving you what you want and pleasing you in a way I never cared to before with _anyone_ else, B.B." He pauses his head at hip-level, his glance up at me blazing with intensity in a way that has little do with sex. "In other words, _not_ a hook-up."

For once, I have no comeback, can't spare even the thought of mustering a reply because he's robbed me of breath and the ability to formulate words. Damn lawyers. They have years practicing glib little speeches and learning how to wield sentences like swords. Or penises because-no lie, just hearing him casually announce in that deep cadence of his that this isn't something he's gonna let me throw away-it gets to me. I'm the epitome of hot and bothered. Possibly, I'm aroused by the fact that he seems to read me so well.

I don't have time to over think it, though, not when his hands sear a trail down my thighs, as he tugs my panties down. He pushes me further back on the seat, resting me against the plastic cover near the fuel tank, the purring engine sending jolts right where I sit, straight to my core.

He definitely knows what he's doing, but from the way he talks, I'm guessing-hoping-he's never had a woman on the bike before, otherwise why grumble at length about it? Or has he just read up on best practices? Could be that. It's Mal.

His hands guide my legs over his shoulders as he bends to his knees, looking like he's getting comfortable even though he's still got on too many clothes and I'm completely at his mercy.

I bite my lip, my legs falling closed on instinct.

"Ah-ah." I repress a moan, the air between my thighs going warm as he breathes against me, then licks along my folds, light and meandering. "No getting in my way."

His other hand teases my skin, trailing back up to skim my belly button before they drift towards my nipples. Then he pinches one, at the same moment his mouth seals itself on my clit, sucking forcefully, jamming his tongue deeply inside, slurping, flicking, stroking expertly away and turning my vision blurry when I look down and try to make sense of it-Mal Parker nose deep between my thighs.

There's moments that are so unreal I have to doubt. It's not that I never saw this happening, especially in the last week with how he's acted. But when you spend years conditioned to expect one set of behavior from a guy and then he ends up squeezing your legs around his head with sexually obscene intentions-you have to wonder about reality. Karma. His mental status.

"Mal," I gasp, reaching down to grip his hair between my fingers, torn between shoving his face deeper or tugging him back so I can regain sanity, but he clamps down harder and leaves a prolonged, open-mouthed kiss against the deepest parts of me, and the bike's purring at the same time working wonders with my G-spot. When his finger joins in the fun, bending right against where everything in me is centered at the moment, pulsing hot and needy, I let go finally, hearing his own choked voice when I all but scream his name on my climax, in the tiny shed in my grandmother's yard.

Mal pushes up urgently, his pants bulging. Firm hands shift my trembling body, turning me but I fight it, stripping his jacket and ripping his shirt off, buttons flying while he helps by shedding his pants and boxers.

"Finally," I moan, drinking in the sight of him completely naked, muscles rippling everywhere and drenched with sweat.

He yanks my sweater up and off, his gaze broadcasting raw hunger as his hands reach out to trace over my own nudeness. When he leans in to burn me with a kiss, his tongue hot and wild against mine, I lean back against the handlebar, arched up towards him; he takes it as invitation to explore, branding my skin with his lips and his fingers.

One slips inside my folds again moments later, stroking me, stirring needs just recently sated back into life.

"Turn around, B.B."

I'm putty in his hands, his command low and gravelly and I have no thought at all about fighting it now. In seconds I feel him, hard and long and demanding, encased in a new condom and pressing against my ass.

The stray thought hits me, then, that night from years back floating to memory. "This what you had in mind, Mal?" I whisper. "The first time you gave me a ride?"

He groans, bending me over the handlebars, hot fingers finding my slick folds right before he impales me, rough and stretching me beyond capacity with his girth.

"I did," I confess, feeling depraved, sinful, and letting my voice show it.

One large arm goes around my chest, squeezing my breasts tight in his grip; his other hand latches on to my hips and ass, fingers biting into my skin as he rocks into me, his pace bruising. I relish it; have wanted to see him lose control for years, never imagined it would be this way, with me behind it, and I'm pissed that I had no clue. So, so pissed. I ran from him, when I should've gone the other way.

"There," my voice breaks, guttural, laced with so much need I barely recognize it. "Keep going."

He clenches me harder, pressing me against the bike until the hum of the engine sends my nerves into a tailspin, firing off little shocks against my clit.

Definitely, keeping it on was the right idea.

Then it starts all over again for me, tightening and tingling low, rising towards my core, Mal's grunts growing harsher when I go taut. I clamp down on his forearms, my nails digging into the ridges of muscles, anticipation building as he grows more rigid beneath my fingers, thrusts into me with frenzy now, long, deep, milked by my building wetness.

"God, yes," I gasp, arching, grinding hard to meet his desperate strokes.

"B.B...ahh fuck..." then he's ripping into me-oh, Jesus, we'll topple off this bike soon, is my thought, bouncing wildly on his lap. White sparks fill my vision and my body goes weightless, my walls contracting around him, finally, moments before he pulses, his own release sending his head to drop heavily on my shoulder, his lips sucking greedily under my ear.

He doesn't stop, intent on marking me, it seems.

And it tickles, and he knows it, but he's latched on my skin, lapping his tongue and grazing his teeth along my neck like a damn vampire.

"Is this a kink of yours?" I breathe, tilting my head back, my shoulder going up and ready to shy away but honestly, I'm loathe to end the contact. As sticky as we both are I don't know at this point if my legs are working and leaning against him is pretty much all I can do.

His rumble of laughter vibrates through both our bodies. I shiver, exhausted, watching him turn the bike off.

"Maybe a new one. We can practice it. After."

"After what?" Though I have a good idea what's coming.

When I muster enough energy to look behind me, he's grinning wickedly. " _Gremlins._ Popcorn. Movie night. You invited me, remember?"

I didn't, but I don't mention it, not when we're straggling upstairs, doing a mutual walk of shame from the shed in the frayed remains of our clothes, heater in hand. Not when we shower together, relatively chastely, weirdly enough, staying in separate corners of the tub though his eyes are burning patterns into my skin as I loofah myself. And definitely not when I'm just throwing on my most well-worn and comfortable yoga pants and a tank and popping the movie in, wondering once more if I'm just having the best damn sex dream ever.

He walks in with an enormous bowl of popcorn in hand, two wineglasses, and the bottle of wine I'd reserved for another night to go with an actual meal as opposed to microwavable bags of kernel pieces, plus a package of white peppermint chocolates I'd stashed on the side of the fridge, that he's somehow found. I realize none of my sex dreams would be that involved when it comes to snacks and beverages.

From beneath my lashes, I sneak little looks at him, as we both get comfortable on the couch. My grandmother's quilt is spread over my lap, he's on the other end, and if anyone walking in now got a look at us, nobody would ever know the intense two rounds of sex we'd just shared in the span of as many hours.

Every once in a while, our hands brush maybe by accident, more likely not, as we grab popcorn. Gizmo's on the screen, looking cute and not all the root of all evil in the movie, when Mal's finger strokes mine as I absently reach back in. Whipping my head away from the TV, I catch his gray eyes on me instead of the movie.

Some things, you just know. The way he's looking, intense but not in the lecherous way, I can tell he has something to get off his chest. I'm not sure if I'm ready to hear anything, so I throw the covers off, take the popcorn I've picked up and tuck it inside his mouth instead.

As much as he can read my intentions, I guess I can do the same with his. If only I could read his thoughts would be great. Light fingers wrap around my wrist, keeping me from moving back to my corner.

"Like the movie?" he asks, tugging me even closer.

With pretty minimal effort, I can easily imagine myself straddling his lap, wrapped once more in his heat and hardness. The image flickers to mind, while my gaze gets stuck on the missing buttons of his shirt.

"Sure." I need to replace this shirt. His very nice, soft, shirt.

"I happen to have the sequel. Back at my place."

Looking away, I repress the urge to flee. Or smile. I don't know. Confusion turns my thoughts into jelly, made worse when Mal ghosts his fingers across my cheeks, his touch now so much more intimate even though it's far from sexual. It's spurring flashbacks of our time in the shed and the closet but my treacherous torn brain chooses just then to also relive tiny moments of our longer history-the mortifying ones, involving his mocking eyes and snide comments about the lovesick munchkin who ate up his time or didn't know better than to wear her heart on her sleeve. As recently as tonight he's still up to his old tricks. So my gut tells me to lean away, but then his fingers are tender- _jarring_. Judge him by his actions or his words? comes the refrain.

And I have no idea how to extricate myself from this new drug of him caressing me, the hint of a smile in place at the corner of his mouth.

"Bonnie."

Great, he's doing it again, putting my name out there in _that_ voice, where he can ask me if I want to go hunt down puppies to feed to alligators and I might be convinced to go along with it. Hate it hate it hate it, how he can probably make it sound palatable. It's not normal, how enticing he can sell anything when my damn name rolls off his tongue that way. Does he do this to every woman that he takes a shining to? But from the way everyone makes it sound-even Mal himself-he makes no time for dating. In the course of the last ten years, I myself haven't seen him with anyone serious. One or two faces flicker to mind, but merely in passing, and a tiny flare of jealousy kicks up, in remembrance. Especially now that I've gotten up close and personal-I can't stand the thought, thinking of him with anyone else.

Where are my brains? I'm home for the holidays and due to get back to my normal life in less than two days. Mal's got no time for this; I can't risk my sanity, chasing tails again when it comes to my old crush who has now given me multiple orgasms in the raunchiest ways.

I've just shot myself in the foot here.

He scoots nearer; my wince isn't obvious, but he definitely picks up on it based on how his gaze turns careful.

"Why haven't you asked me?"

"Ask you what?"

"About my aborted trip to New York-why I never showed my face. I-" he stops, laughing to himself, lolling his tongue in his cheek with his head shaking ruefully. "Expected the Inquisition, actually. I'm a _bit_ disappointed with the lukewarm reception. Thought you'd be more worked up."

"What's there to be worked up over?" I scoff. "Were you thinking I'd get my panties all in a bunch because you deigned to make an appearance? Jerky of you, by the way, not to at least let Lu know. You're his big brother and if nothing else-you must've been proud of him. Second..."

I don't want to fib or call him names, so I settle for philosophical and vague.

"You had to skulk around the ceremony," I ponder. "I doubt you even fully know yourself why you felt the need to, Mal. We would've been happy to see you." Then, because I can't help it, I add, "Asshat."

Couldn't help the name calling. Oh, well.

Just then, right before he can launch into protest, we both hear it-a car pulling up into the driveway. Grams.

Mentally breathing a sigh of relief, I inch back to my corner of the couch, putting the bowl of popcorn back between us, throwing a warning look in response to his glower.

Grams lets herself in, finding me and Mal sitting at opposite ends, cordial and munching on popcorn like we're a pair of sexless amoebas, concentrated on water hating gremlins on the television, snarling at the world and setting things on fire. I'm a little envious, watching them; sometimes, I'd like to channel that and give into the need to turn into a hateful little troll. Doesn't happen often, but this week would be a prime example.

For once, I don't get a whiff of judgment in the air from my grandmother's corner. Instead, she's serene, if a bit surprised to see that Mal's still hanging around. I try not to think of the last two hours when I talk to her-know that a hint of color coming to my cheeks now would be akin to announcing with a microphone that: _here came Mal and B.B. in the shed, on your property. Pardon._

Mal stands automatically, moving towards her to help with the bags in her hands. For as much as Lu and his other siblings call him a jerk and Mal himself seems to wear the reputation like a badge of honor, some of his mannerisms come across more like he's been raised in an older era where courtesy mattered. Again I melt, just a little, though Grams has no problem waving him away with a desultory nod.

"This one bag is actually for you," Grams says, holding out to him one carrying a container of what appears to be take-home leftovers from the party. "Joss and Shelley were surprised you didn't make yourself a plate."

His face instantly brightens, seeing the heaping helpings his sisters served for him. My belly flip-flops at the boyish light of relish in his eyes, over all that food.

Later, I pat the seat beside me, inviting my grandmother to sit between us on the couch, which she does albeit with a look of bewildered caution at me. But soon, she's recounting the rounds of Mah-jongg with Mrs. Parker and how Mr. Parker finally arrived home, thrilled to have escaped Ro's before his sister could extract a promise from him to redo the infrastructure of both the company and family dynamics, with his impending exit.

Which puts a damper on Mal's mood, though he doesn't broadcast it, but it's clear in the tightening of his back and how he snap out kinks in his shoulders and neck, listening to my grandmother. I don't try to convince my vanity it's that I worked him in the shed and the closet-no, it's obvious that years playing mediator in his family have worn him out a little. Not only that, but now instead of placating only his mom's flights of fanciful worry, he's got the entire brood at his back, fully aware of Mr. Parker's condition now. It's a lot. But Lu will be here and I know as much contentiousness as there seems to be now between them, in the end they're probably the tightest among the brothers and Mal won't be on his own anymore.

Or so I hope.

By the time the movie's over, Grams is pattering around, getting herself situated with cups of tea-green for her, chamomile for me with a dash of honey. I offer Mal coffee before he makes his way back home, avoiding his gaze while I tinker in the kitchen, relieved that my grandmother's in tune enough with body language to see how desperate I am not to be alone again with him.

Except when I turn, ready to hand out Mal's cup...

Grams is nowhere to be found.

Only Mal's there, standing in front of the window, leaning his arms against the ledge and looking overall far too cozy and enveloping much of the space in the kitchen. Because of the time he's spent here in the last few days, I've grown accustomed to seeing him here. I shouldn't.

"Did you waitress or something?" he asks evenly. "Work as a barista at some point in the last couple years and now you've got a photographic memory?"

"No, why?"

He shrugs. "You know just how many sugars and cream I take and the amount of cinnamon I like."

Oh. That. Well, spend years watching someone on the down low like I had him and it was bound to seep through, the way he took his coffee or that he likes leather bands on his watches and at one point had a thing for Baywatch reruns.

Where the _hell_ is Grams?

"B.B.-"

"So what, Mal? I know stuff. Some of it's about you, sure. Doesn't mean anything."

"Did the last couple hours mean anything? Or will you deny that, too?"

"If I am, then I guess I'm just taking a page out of your book," comes my breezy reply. "And what kind of voodoo are you pulling? Us having casual encounters doesn't equate to me turning into Judas just because I'm not doodling our names on a notebook. I'm not fifteen anymore, so rest easy. And seriously, Mal, you have enough things to juggle."

He clucks his tongue. "Shame you can't unclench, B.B. We should make the most of your time left."

I sigh, tempted to walk away. "You should go. Looks like the flurries stopped." But I can't bring myself to send him off without one last try at being there for him, like I promised. So I approach him, guarded but with every intent to help. "Hope you meant what you said to Lu about letting him help over here. Can't stress enough: you should take a breather. Go on vacation or something."

And then, from my words, the light bulb flashes on.

I plant my palm squarely on me forehead. The sex. His desperation. Over the last few years, stress has been building and what natural way would he go about trying to find relief and release except to think about the simpler bygone days of when he was younger. His dad healthier. His own life holding less burdens and responsibilities. Of course Mal would fixate on me, the girl whose crush started when he was still in the glory days of being a relatively unfettered late twenties adult. He's been using me and my dusty obsession with him as self-therapy of sorts, maybe to reclaim that sense of freedom? If it's regression mixed with projecting and sublimation to boot, I can't pinpoint, but for sure it's something.

As a last minute theory-it honestly seems legit. Holds weight. My best explanation for how this entire last week's behavior on his end has come out of nowhere. The conversation I had with Grams in Ro's kitchen earlier where she was convinced Mal Parker was smitten with me? Sexually attracted, sure. But nothing else jives with the rest of her statements. Confessing our mutual want was a big thing. Giving into it another. Further than that-my mind goes neutral and empty. I'm not prepared to explore, and Mal's not in any better position, either.

Grief does funny things to people, after all.

And he's far enough into this modified defense mechanism that it's turned into a bad habit, possibly, and now he's fooled both my grandmother into thinking it's anything more than an early kind of mid-life crisis, spurred by his dad's medical degeneration.

I refuse to let him keep it up. It's not healthy and there's a risk I might decide to let him fool me, too.

We both need to move on from tonight's mutual shared mania. The best way, then, to get him off my back is to just play it cool. Especially now that I know-with all the smug sense of triumph of having brought it out in him-just how quickly I can spur him to lose control, get him to cave like he said _(committed to giving you what you want and pleasing you, B.B.)_ , that right there should satisfy me. It has to be enough.

His dick's definitely engaged; the other parts of him, not so much-and I can't be bothered. I won't. Now's my best chance to show him truly, that I really am a damn woman now, equipped with the ability to shed intimacy like mere flecks of lint off my shoulders.

I tiptoe and kiss his cheek with as much harmless, non-sexual affection as I can manage. Even hug him, noting the way he doesn't seem to be responding back and again, that's easy to understand. Without the promise of intercourse, this isn't going anywhere. He can read the signs on the wall as well as me. He might even be just as confused as I'd been, minutes ago.

"We got it out of the way, right? Of course it meant something." I rub his jaw also, because I can't help myself; this will be the last time I touch him. "We can put it all behind us now. Start fresh for real."

He's staring down at me woodenly, utterly speechless. I take it as a good sign, that I'm getting through, he's starting to see the light.

"Oh, and hey, I wiped down the bike already. All cleaned off." Almost symbolic, that comment, but now's a bad time for me to psychoanalyze that. "Do me a favor. Text me when you get home so I know you're safe and not bike jacked by a gang or hacked up by a serial killer."

His brows rise, totally in disbelief.

"Force of habit," I mutter.

Funny how my shoulders want to feel lighter, but a little piece of something sharp lodged inside my chest hobbles the sense of accomplishment I'm trying to inspire inside me.

Grams reappears, giving me room to escape. I give her the thumbs up on my way out, to indicate all's well. I hear Mal taking his leave, quickly, and when the door finally slams shut behind him-I can't help thinking- _phew._ But feeling, a little- _ouch._

An hour later, my phone buzzes with his text, short and to the point. _Home. Safe. 'Night._

I see nothing of him at all the next day, or the morning I leave town. By the time I board my flight back to New York, Grams is seeing me off with a huge smile on her face, now that she thinks Mal and I cleared the air. I believe it, too. Parts of me are numb, but that's to be expected, when the end of an era's nigh and you're not quite sure how to say good-bye to it.

But hey-at least the sex was fabulous, as our ship plummeted into the deepest recesses into the ocean of Better Left Alone.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Hope everyone's enjoying the baby days of 2016! IDK what happened to the reviews not showing up here but I can still read them in my notifications so thanks for the feedback once again. And keep em coming...they are my fuel. Especially as the story winds to a close and yes JustStockton...I'm feeling that pain...getting a little sad myself saying goodbye to this world.

This chapter has a cameo of a character I would've liked to see more of and who really needed more scenes with Bonnie (what else is new...story of our lives, us Bonnie fans). Enjoy!

 **Chapter XIV**

 _The quad was a sea of black, with tiny slivers of gold and a smattering of green to break up the bleak color. Not that it mattered. The sun beating down was bright enough on this warm day that the beaches and the grass could've turned black coast to coast and I would've still needed sunglasses for shade._

 _I adjusted the collar of my shirt, casting my gaze around the seated crowd. Nearer me were rows of chairs occupied by families and friends of the graduating class. I spotted the row of Parkers nearer the front, saw my parents and a few of my siblings' heads bobbing excitedly. Lu and B.B. both had already walked the stage and gone through the rigmarole of posing for pictures with the administrators._

 _The entire time, I stayed standing in the back, waiting for the right moment to make my presence known._

 _I wasn't supposed to be here; I had afternoon appointments today that were urgent, but last minute, I decided they could wait. Nobody was under threat of incarceration or losing their home or job. My paralegal stepped in, more than capable and willing to handle the demands of my clients, and I boarded the plane a few hours ago, dropping several hundred dollars more on a last-minute flight._

 _But it was fine. I'd made it._

 _Lu would be thrilled._

 _B.B...well, that-I wasn't certain. I hadn't seen her in years. It'd be strange, sure, but our families were still close, even if we weren't. But since our conversation on her birthday-lingering in my mind even now, months later, since I'd never in my whole damn life been so amused and aroused in one go, in the span of a forty-five minute earpiece conversation-I was confident she'd welcome my surprise appearance. Or so I nursed a hope, in a far corner of my brain._

 _If nothing else, I had a gift for her._

 _She'd walked the stage with her head held up, loose swing of her arms telling me that she's grown comfortable with herself. I couldn't see her face up close, and the robes hid most everything about her, but it didn't stop something lurching to my throat, the sight of her up there, smiling widely when she was handed the slip of rolled-up paper-never mind that it was probably blank-indicating here was another accomplishment. Check. Here came real life. Check._

 _B.B. looked more than ready to take a large bite of it, here in the Big Apple. I took it all in, committing the picture to memory._

 _In contrast, I could barely remember when my brother's name was called._

 _I had something for him, too. A check, to help with the deposit on the apartment he'd found. After the last time we spoke, where he'd waved off needing anything, I had managed to uncover that financially, he was struggling here. Joss and Livvie both had hinted pooling together the fund. I put down the lion's share because I was in better position to, it was Lu, and I didn't want him floundering in these early stages. Unlike Garrett, I knew Lu would make an effort and disliked handouts. Presenting it by way of a graduation gift, he wouldn't be able to turn anything down._

 _But right then, more than anything, I wanted to find B.B. first to give her present._

 _I spent the remaining hour scouting for the familiar, wavy dark hair. It wasn't hard to miss, once the entire class threw their caps up in the air in a collective cheer of freedom well earned. She ran to her grandmother afterwards, her robe flying behind her, hair flowing loosely behind._

 _I advanced on the quad, picking up my pace. Somewhere on the edge of my peripheral sight, my family members floated in and out in the distance, their voices also carrying, but I didn't pay them any mind, keeping an eye instead on B.B. and her family._

 _Her father and mother appeared, joining Sheila. I waited impatiently for the requisite hugging and tears of pride on her parents' part. I saw the flash of a camera go off in quick succession._

 _It took forever._

 _And then-_

 _Lu joined in the celebration, the rest of my family not far behind. It was another several minutes where both new graduates were heaped with hugs and smiles. Pride and a little pang surged through me, watching my brother and B.B. both. How far they'd come, on their joint adventure so far away from the rest of us._

 _The pang grew sharp, more of a stab in the vicinity of the left side of my ribs-when an entire horde of fellow grads jumped into the fray. Someone else grabbed my brother, playfully rubbing his knuckles into his hair while a gaggle of young women circled B.B. Their robes blended together, the guys joined the girls, and soon all I could see were a group of faces bright with swagger, hope, and that eagerness that belonged to the small population of people caught between youth and age. They had their entire life ahead of them to navigate. Today was their first day getting a taste of success. Tomorrow, maybe failure._

 _Who knew?_

 _And more importantly, what the fuck was I trying to do? Plant myself in B.B.'s path and, what, sway her from getting started? I wasn't sure myself what had guided me here. Vague notions of reconnecting, that all went up in plumes the longer I watched her with her cohorts, laughing with the ease of youth._

 _It wasn't right, me being here._

 _I loosened my tie, running a hand through my hair, my blazer hanging heavy over one arm and the small box for B.B. in my other hand growing equally leaden, as I turned my back on the quad and headed for the exit._

 _Two hours later, I stared out a tiny window, watching the Manhattan skyline shrink and fade away into the clouds._

-x-O-x-

School resumes and keeps me occupied. For one, my kids are all nervous to see the grades they got for their papers that everyone put their best foot forward on. I'm proud and touched and even a little weepy, when I think of the beaming faces, once they get their grades. So between that and the upcoming two weeks of vacation-junior high work life's a boon, especially when my colleagues get together for happy hour for our informal holiday function.

That night, the assistant principal announces she's pregnant. Meanwhile, our new guidance counselor-shy and quiet usually-is glowing, sporting a new engagement ring. And you know what? I'm thrilled for them, they're great people. I join the others in drinking just a little too freely that night, enough to give me the courage to try my hand at Karaoke, with my co-workers in the audience appearing to send me thumbs up signs while hiding the lower half of their faces. I choose to interpret it as them being overcome with emotion, from my rendition of _**With or Without You**_.

Or they're laughing their asses off. Whatever.

Two weeks before Christmas, my mom calls me.

A phone call with my mom is always a fascinating experience. She's the classic Abby that I remember from earlier childhood where she was focused on making sure I was a happy, normal kid. That hasn't changed, so every time we talk it begins and ends with 'are you okay?' and 'do you need anything?' But then it's peppered with her unceasing guilt over the fact that, yes, she left so, no, things haven't been normal since the day she abandoned her own child and husband to start a different family elsewhere. Even though the estrangement hadn't lasted more than a year-she's always fully aware of her biggest failure in life and the way she sometimes treats me with kid gloves proves that more than anything else, even just being her daughter, I am living reminder of it, for her.

It's a little exhausting sometimes, because really, I just want a decent conversation with her-which happens occasionally. But she reads into anything I say as an accusation.

So when we talk, I have a tendency to inject more pep than I feel. Which means, in my off-moments or when I'm tired, if that's missing from my voice-my mom goes on guard dog mode.

"Something happened," she says in a rush of anxiety, in response to my simple "okay, mom" after she asks how my time in Portland went.

"No." Then I shake my head at my own self-centeredness. "Well, Mr. Parker's sick. As in dying. So it's all kind of a mess over there. A little."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie. I know you're close to the family." Then she sighs, and it's fraught with something that I can tell has to be more than just concern over the Parkers.

The strange thing is, she knows Mal and Joss, is roughly about their age. Stranger than that, though, is how little it bothers me. In comparison to the eldest set of Parker twins, my mom seems so far removed. Less approachable, older. Harder. A lot of it is what she's chosen for herself-being away from her family, especially Grams, who opted to stay by me and my dad once the divorce went through. It's been tough for mom, I know. She never accepted alimony from my dad, who offered. In return, he never asked for child support, didn't need it, but that never stopped Mom from sending what she could throughout the years. When I was old to enough to understand that it was all she could spare-a lot of my resentment faded.

But I never could fathom, how she hated her life so much with me and my dad, that she was willing to struggle so hard away from us.

"Sure nothing happened on _your_ end?" I ask now, reading more into her silence.

"No, B.B. I just-were you still planning to spend your two weeks of vacation in Portland?"

"Yes." It was only fair, as last year, I'd spent it in Mystic Falls.

"Any chance you could try to stick around in New York for Christmas at least? I know it's last minute-but I wanted to see you."

Before I'd left, Grams had mentioned a possible change in plans, although she'd kept it vague and at the time I hadn't dug too deeply. So this was it. Nothing was urgent about Portland, except Grams. And my quick visit to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Parker showed a relatively calm and quiet household, Lu staying in his old room and coping well with helping his parents out, not to mention having everything out in the open. Me being in Portland...didn't much make a difference, actually.

"I'm guessing Grams already knows?"

"Are you kidding? I called her first, don't want her chewing me out."

"So she's coming here?"

"That's the plan."

"Why?" I'm a little baffled with the shuffling. "What's going on?"

"Well..." she pauses, the line on her end reeking with tension. "We were hoping to talk to you in person."

What? Wait... _we_?

"Okay..." and it's slow, because now my senses are tingling and telling me that something is off. "Is everything all right, mom?"

"You tell me first. The truth, this time. You don't sound yourself."

Here's the thing about my mom, though. She always seems to know when I'm lying. That's never changed, and I shouldn't think it will ever considering that Grams shares the same trait. Maybe it's a Bennett thing. Grams once told me sniffing out bullshit's our specialty, that and keeping our maiden names and passing them off to the kids. I personally think it's a lucky thing the men marrying into the family have not only been progressive enough never to push for their surnames to take precedence, but also-they were sticklers for telling the truth. My own dad, for one, swore up and down he could give George Washington a run for his money, when it came to never fibbing. Which I always thought made him such a dork, but at least an honest one.

"It's nothing, mom."

"Is it..." she pauses. "About a boy?"

This disdainful laugh comes out, and I don't mean for it to, really, but wow, my mother talking to me like I'm twelve years old brings it out, you know?

"No, actually, it's grumpy old man problems."

"I...see."

"I'm joking, mom," I say, a little more softly. "My trip just got a little weird at the end, but nothing huge."

"Well...B.B. Life's about to get weirder."

Why am I not surprised?

"Are you about to explain the _'we'_ that's coming for Christmas?" I pry.

"...yes. Your father. Me. And Jamie."

"Oookay." Why would that be weird? Granted, Jamie and I barely know each other, have nothing in common, and never bonded as stepsiblings, so I don't understand why he'd even be coming along in the first place, but it's fine, I can go with the flow. There are two spare air mattresses in the closet, from last year's Black Friday shopping. That's if they didn't already book a hotel elsewhere. Which I'm sort of hoping they did.

"Your father bought the tickets already, I'll just let him know..."

She keeps going, and I'm nodding, totally calm, until my brain rewinds a little. My dad bought the tickets...plural. For all of them, collectively. Not that they were arriving here separately, just happening to visit at the same time due to a mass holiday. No.

Ohhhh. Okay.

Now that _is_ weird.

"Are you two-back together?"

Since when? They've been doing so well apart for the last two decades, just about. And Dad-hadn't he just mentioned seeing someone new?...

My eyes bug out, and I pull the phone away, staring at the screen, hearing my mom laugh.

"B.B. We've got a lot to catch up on."

"Tell me it's not that one of you is dying and this is some last hurrah thing."

"Not that I know of," she says.

The line grows extremely quiet, no breathing, no background noise. Nothing. How-why-when- _WHAT?_ wants to erupt from my mouth, but my brain is stuck processing that afternoon when my dad called me during my time in Portland with Grams. The random woman I'd heard in the background-turns out, not so random. Mom.

"Isn't that something," I say, laughing softly now, hysteria resting just beneath my skin, ready to be coaxed out. "I'll see you guys soon."

After we hang up, I have to pull out a chair and sit, properly, pondering this newest status change.

-x-O-x-

That night, I'm still pondering.

If Lu was here, he'd be sitting across from me now, in a booth in our hole-in-the wall eatery that's a block from my apartment. It's a family operation and the father's in the back cooking with his missus at the counter and their daughter waiting on the customers. I'm a regular, so they don't mind me occupying the tiny corner beside the window, people watching while the other patrons come in and out, bringing the cold air with them.

Outside, my neighborhood's bedecked with garlands of lights here and there, the occasional wreath, and a smatter of sidewalk signs boasting holiday specials. People are ducking in and out of the surrounding store fronts, keeping them from noticing how hard I'm watching. Not that I'm being nosy, but it's easy to let my thoughts drift with my eyes on random strangers going along their merry way. A figure resting on a bench across the street is doing the same, lost in thought as the crowds pass, oblivious to him sitting in the cold. He's bundled in a jacket several sizes too big, nursing a small cup of coffee in hand.

"Anything else for you tonight, darlin'?"

My plate's half eaten, my appetite not where it usually is. Distracted, I place an order with the waitress to go for the night's special along with soup.

My parents are bugging me. I don't care to dwell too deeply why. There are too many scabs that would involve picking, and while some people like this time of year to examine old scars, I'm not usually one of them. But Lu's not here with biting commentary about his hipster bosses at work, or snarky replies when I tell him about my latest all-acronym meeting with school administrators after class.

So it's hard, not getting scabby.

At the end of my meal, my phone buzzes, prolonged, insistent, repetitive. When I look, Jessie's name flashes up from my screen. To distract myself, I answer it.

He sounds surprised when my voice greets him.

"Wow, you're there. Hi."

"Hey."

"Are you back?"

"Mmhmm."

"Good, good. How was your trip?"

We do a few minutes of small talk, none of it memorable but talking to him is cozy and now I don't feel such the isolated penguin in an igloo; now I have company, albeit one on an earpiece.

In a lull, Jessie's voice drops several decibels, when he asks, "What're you up to right now?"

"Just finishing dinner."

"Can I come by later?"

Because I'm sick of my own company and the direction of my thoughts, I let something creep into my own voice, when I ask, "How 'bout your place instead? Unless you've got plans."

He pauses, anticipation growing in it before he replies, husky, "Suddenly my schedule's all clear."

Without any more thought, I leave. As I head outside, passing the man on the bench, I place the takeout bag beside his seat. He nods his thanks. "Merry Christmas!"

Walking towards the subway station, I start suspecting I'd probably find more of what I'm really looking for just staying beside him on the bench and talking about the weather, than heading where I am.

I'm not the type to use sex as distraction but since coming home, the sense of losing ground beneath my feet has only grown. What else can anchor me but human connection? I don't want to call anyone; words alone won't suffice. I haven't seen Jessie in months, but long explanations have never been our thing and it's easy to get to his place.

The connection flares to life between us as soon as we set eyes on each other; not hot or consuming, but the flash of it's enough to warm me, especially when his hands move urgently, as if this is something that's been on his mind for a while.

It's enough.

Just shy of one in the morning, I crawl over his resting body, rising from the bed to dress. My eyes run along his long, muscled form, leaner than Mal's. The comparison sends a stab of longing through me, for the wrong person.

Jessie smiles back, his eyes rueful. "Should I feel exploited?"

"Maybe. Should I?"

He stands, also. "No." Then he's sighing. "You know, for what it's worth, I miss you and I know I was a jerk about my friends-"

I flicker a hand in dismissal, cutting him off. "Don't worry about it. Anyway, we were never a serious thing, right?"

"Let's fix that. Have dinner with me tomorrow."

"Can't, sorry."

He's tall, his brown skin gleaming under the soft lamp; Jessie's gorgeous, but I'm not overwhelmed with craving for him. I'm not even that apologetic, because he's taking my curt refusal with a small laugh, like he's not surprised.

"I don't think you know how to do serious, B.B." At my puzzled face, he shrugs, flopping back onto the bed and closing his eyes. "Think about it."

Because I'm floored, all I can do is head to the bathroom, mulling over that comment. The implication being that somehow, it's me that's kept things from progressing between us? How typical, to have blame shoved at my feet. I stalk back out of the bathroom, my face scrubbed clean and my tongue ready to cut.

" _I_ can't do _serious_?!" My protest ends in a high squeak. "It's practically my middle name! I am nothing _but_ that! As a matter of fact, us? here? now? with the sex out of nowhere? This isn't even a thing I do! And let me remind you, Jessie, that you're the one who said-and I quote-" here I pitch my voice lower- " _can't tie down a stallion in his prime."_ My hands go up, flailing my arms up to the ceiling in total confusion. "Really, what is that? Were you practicing music lyrics or something?"

But Jessie's on the bed, watching me like I've grown two heads and two asses; also, his hand's pressed to his ear. "You still there?" he mumbles into my cell.

Why is he on my phone?

"Who is this again?" he asks, then pulls the phone back. It's the same exact model as mine. Oh. I connect the dots, when he looks over at me, his face cringing in apology. He mistook my phone for his. "Sorry, I thought I was taking my call. She's right here, if you wanna hang on a sec-"

But when he hands me back my phone, the line's dead. The name on the screen's enough to sink my stomach to my feet.

 _Mal._

My eyes shut, and I'm ready to wallow in more guilt and dismay before it resonates-how little I have to feel bad about. Jessie's glancing up at me dubiously, probably imagining that I'm about to throw a fit about his goof. But instead I cover the top of my head and give into frustrated laughter.

"Sorry, B.B."

Wow. Past one in the morning and Mal of all people calls? Right in time to catch my diatribe. I can only imagine what he must be thinking now. Clearly, the obvious. But also maybe, that I'm a liar, because what had I told him once that time he called on my birthday? That I'm not one of the cool kids who indulged in meaningless flings? Except that's exactly who had answered his call. Jessie. My spur of the moment booty call for the night.

But no-I'm not ashamed...in truth, I'm a little relieved, that at least he's been inadvertently presented with more proof that, yes, I'm a woman now. I shouldn't be so hung up on proving that to anyone, dammit.

"It happens," I say, pulling on my coat and bag. Jessie gives me a kiss on the cheek, seeing me to his door, the air between us completely chill and without any recriminations-just like the last time we'd seen each other. Whatever thoughts he had on my outburst coming out of the bathroom, clearly weren't bothersome. Which sums up our relationship in a nutshell-no matter the little nuisances we found in each other, things are always simple, relatively painless.

"Happy holidays, hot stuff," he calls back as I walk down the hall to the elevators.

When I look back, it's in time to catch his shrug and effortless smile.

I want to suspect he lives a charmed life; it would be so easy to make those assumptions, but the truth is, I hardly know the guy. We've bumped uglies, exchanged pleasantries, all in the span of half a year, but even now, I realize, I don't know his birthday. There's a lot about him I never bothered to explore, past the tip of the iceberg.

"Back atcha. See ya around, Jessie."

-x-O-x-

Twelve days before Christmas, my dad rings. The week's heading to a close and I'm looking forward to decompressing soon, but when I spot his number on my phone, tension creeps up, all over my shoulders and neck, and it stays there, the entire time I talk to him.

They're in town. Early.

"Thought we'd surprise you!" he says, chirpy.

"Ha, yeah," I reply, hoping my laugh doesn't sound forced. "'Cause there's not enough of that going around."

Flies right over his head. It's fine.

I only have time to meet them at the hotel. Dad usually books at the Holiday Inn, but this time around he's gotten rooms at the Marriott, nearest me. I offered to house them all in my apartment but he was able to use points he'd saved up. I get that this stay's a little different in that he has Mom and Jamie along. Dad's had to be frugal first and foremost being a single-income household all these years and never ever one to spend beyond his means (except when it comes to eating out because he can't figure out the stove)-but now, there's company he needs to consider.

And it's decent of him, because my Mom and Jamie haven't had many opportunities over the years to come out for trips here. Mom's second husband was blue collar, a plant chemical worker who'd never understood why I would want to move to New York and fall behind even before I've entered the rat race.

There are times, in hindsight, that I wonder if I should've listened to him.

By the time I make it to the hotel, my parents and Jamie are seated at the bar and lounge right off the main lobby, all three of them with drinks already in hand, although my mom's is just water.

We share hugs, in mine and Jamie's case more of an awkward semi-embrace and back clap. Mom and Dad are both watching us closely, broadcasting just how badly they want everyone to join hands and sing kumbaya. I don't understand why they're like that-neither Jamie and I are ten-year-olds plotting to raise hell against each other in a bid to stay the number one kid in the household.

Jamie's got that slot already, anyway, being that while he's finishing up school, he's still living at home. That thought spurs a whole series of questions I don't give voice to...like where exactly is home now for Mom and Jamie? If this is serious, it's a matter of them moving, I know, not my Dad because of his job. Unless he's decided to make some drastic life changes, which is entirely possible, but not likely. No. Mom and Jamie would find their way to Mystic Falls.

Maybe they'd give Jamie my room?

Ugh. I'm not regressing-truly, I'm a grown woman.

But they better leave my room alone.

So while we watch up, everyone's smiling, and I answer in kind, although it feels as if mine is frozen in place.

But I can't keep it up long, especially in the face of my dad and Jamie chatting about the game being covered on one of the television screens. As if my dad suddenly picked up an interest in baseball nearly five decades into his existence, when before he swore up and down that just watching the first inning served as his sleep aid.

Mal would wholeheartedly dislike that, being a baseball fiend himself.

And now...is an abysmal time to let thoughts of Mal come up.

My mom's the first one to notice the crack that I feel in my smile. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asks, but with one eye on my drink, my second Long Island Iced Tea. I haven't ordered one of these since college, but tonight I'm feeling like I need extra fortification.

"Nothing," I tell her, rotating my glass in hand. "Finished up your Christmas shopping yet?"

-x-O-x-

FMLA covers me leaving the office early. Nobody questions it, one because labor laws make it illegal to, and two because everyone knows I only ever make use of it for those times Dad needs help getting around and Mom can't swing it. More often, I've had to use it to cover dialysis appointments. Home visits are starting to turn tricky, and my dad's had enough hiccups during those that now we've just been taking him to outpatient. Mom's never much help.

So when I get to their house, I'm surprised to find her sitting in the car, my dad's backpack on her lap and this determined look on her face, as opposed to the air of barely repressed panic that she's always got.

Then I see Lu walking out, whistling cheerfully. He's got on slacks and a button down. If he'd had a tie on, I might've laughed.

"Hey, bro," he says, smiling.

My dad follows him shortly, nodding to me perfunctorily.

Why do my parents look unnerved and Lu like he's ready to open Christmas presents?

"Are you taking him?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, then tilts his head at me in confusion. "Checked your voicemail? Your texts?"

I've been distracted. Between meetings with clients, catching up on more paperwork, and then having new ones to deal with since signing up for the consulting gig with the much larger nationwide legal group, I've had a ton of things come up lately. Among them, a trip out of town.

"I got this," Lu says.

I nod over to my parents, broadcasting my obvious question.

"Oh, that." Lu's smile, impossibly, grows wider. "I talked Mom into coming along and learning how to deal with the treatment team like she's a normal person and not, ya know, part of the Area 51 club."

"And dad?"

"Confiscated his cigarettes."

My head whips up to look at my dad, who very wisely seems to be staring the other direction now. It's not like I'm going to launch into a tirade because to each his own, but what a dumb shit thing to keep hidden. Understandable. But dumb, for someone whose fast losing his most valued currency-time.

"Take it you didn't know about that." Lu waves his finger in mock disappointment. "Losing your edge, Mal."

"Maybe I need to bum that pack from him," I mutter.

"Don't. Horrible stuff. Anyway, you should stick around," he offers. "After dad's appointment, I'm meeting John and Joss and some of the managers at the warehouse."

"Why exactly would I stick around?"

"Because Aunt Min will be there. And I have a feeling someone's gonna need to slap her with a cease and desist order."

"I'll pass. You have an actual lawyer on the payroll for that."

He shrugs, then looks over me carefully.

"Explain the wolfman makeover," his hand waves over the general of my face.

I rub my jaw, nodding absently. I haven't shaved, keep meaning to but things pop up and before I know it, I've left my house growing an additional inch of new scruff over the old. At some point, this will have to go, especially once I leave town, but more important things need to be handled first.

"What? I forgot." I gesture to my parents, heading back to my car before Lu decides to go digging anymore. "Don't be late."

He follows me, all the way to the driver's side. "You know B.B. won't be making it home for Christmas."

I have a pretty good poker face; earned myself a nice sizable pile of coin, once upon a time playing Texas Hold 'Em way back when. Today, I can't bluff my way out of my a paper bag.

"So I heard," I say, trying for neutral but sensing it comes out jittery.

I just need my plans to work out.

"I'm hoping," he says, laughing a little as he approaches me casually. "That what Livvie mentioned isn't what scared B.B. off."

Shit. "What'd Livvie-oof!"

His fist colliding with my stomach is what cut me off. I double over, wind completely knocked out of my sails and seeing a few birds and stars in my vision. "Dammit, Lu..." I croak, leaning against my car.

"Closet sex with my best friend, before you've even taken her out on a proper date?" Lu clucks in disappointment. "You can do better than that, Mal."

"I-tried," still croaking.

"Try harder."

"Who-" Breathing deeply, gaining my bearings and also debating whether to slam his head on the trunk of my car, I take a moment to calm my ass down so I can get one thing sorted out. "Who the fuck is Jessie, anyway?"

"An ex. Nobody important. Why?"

"He answered her phone. The other night."

Lu absorbs that, a frown growing on his face, before he shrugs again. "Normally, I'd say 'you snooze, you lose,' but in this case..."

My brother glances back over at our parents in the car, who now seem to be arguing over the radio, sounds of different stations reaching us every few seconds.

"She had a built-in reason never letting guys in all these years," Lu says, sounding almost like he's trying to work out a puzzle. "You fell off the pedestal a long time ago, granted. But imagine picking someone to love that you know can't possibly return those feelings. I always wondered why she had a thing for you in the first place. What if all along, you were _just_ that? Her _excuse_?"

That one hurts, exactly where I'm already sore, but I can relish the pain. It'll give me something to work with. Lu's eyes are bright with irony when he scoffs, this time without a trace of hostility but plenty of sympathy.

"She never once expected you to feel the same, you dumb bastard. Now you've got it worse than she ever did, don't you? But that's her dirty little secret, Mal. B.B. doesn't let anyone in. Ever."

When he retreats, it's backwards, his arms lifted up on either side of him in a shrug.

"So the hell what if Jessie answered the phone? Whaddaya gonna do about it, big brother?"

A few things are set in motion already, but this right here's giving me an extra spring in my step. Moments like these, I don't mind having so many damn brothers and sisters. Just like how a broken clock can be right twice a day, every once in a while, a spare sibling or two eventually will prove useful.

-x-O-x-

It's the final minutes of class and none of the kids are paying much attention.

"Don't forget your permission forms," I remind them. "We sent them out a little late, so take 'em home, let your parents sit on them for break, and be on extra good behavior so they sign off."

"That museum is lame," comes a low mutter.

I hear that every year, usually from a kid that's only been to the Met once or twice when they were younger and is throes-deep into adolescent angst about going only to secret underground places to maintain the facade of cool. "Listen," I say absently. "You don't have to go. You're free to stay here, soak up learning within our hallowed halls that none of us can get enough of."

The class falls into a collective titter, and someone else chimes in with a succinct, "It's free, idiot. Just go."

Then they break off once more into smaller group chatter.

Twenty-three bags rest expectantly on the desks, and roughly a third of that are facing backs turned away from me. The buzz of chatter isn't out of control, though, and what I hear are the murmur mostly of weekend plans.

When the final bell rings for the day, the bags vanish quickly, the rush of feet trickling out steady and filling the room for long minutes.

"Bye!"

"Peace out!"

"Have a good weekend, Miss Bennett!"

And the random "Don't do anything I would!" flies back at me, as the last of my kids leave.

The door stays open for another two hours, while I stay in class, finish up on papers and look over the monthly planners. Outside the window, the last of the sun hides behind high-rises that dwarf the school building, and the hall outside my room grows quiet, the rest of the staff having made their way out for the day already.

All I hear is the clock in the room, ticking slowly. And nothing else. For most of the day, I'm surrounded by sounds, conversations, my own voice, and now usually at the time of day when I welcome this peace and quiet-it's turned into a cage. I need to break free of it. Desperate, I lunge for my phone, placing a call.

"Well, hello, stranger," comes the easygoing voice.

"Lu," my own is anything but.

"How's it going over there? Miss me yet?"

Psh. He has no idea.

We settle into the conversation. He updates me on his parents, the cliffs' notes version of his on-the-job training and the restructuring he's helping his older siblings and Mr. Parker implement. I ask him about Norman.

"I'm a little miffed," I tell him, locking up my files and gathering my things. "You never clued me in."

"C'mon, B.B. You'd never have gone for it if I did. Too worried you'd hurt Norman's feelings. It was his idea to stay under the radar but scope out everyone at the parties."

"All that subterfuge," I say, still sounding miffed. "What's he do?"

Lu laughs. "Corporate security."

I snort.

"You'll like him," he promises. "So, anyhoo, how's it going really?"

Why does everyone keep second guessing? But in that moment, I realize I can be truthful here, with this one person.

"Sucks," I admit. "Miss you like crazy. I won't be seeing you for Christmas, either. My parents are together again, so in celebration of potentially separating from their divorce, we're having a Bennett family reunion here. Yay."

"Whoa. Do I offer congrats or condolences?"

"I'll keep you posted."

"Some people take it as a good thing, when their parents get back together."

Huh. I'd expected Lu of all people to understand, and yet-why would I? His own had stayed together through thick and thin all these decades. Sometimes probably drove each other to drink but still managed to remain a unified front, for their family. In his experience, bickering parents were the norm, and probably even healthy. I don't think I've ever told him that I don't much remember my own parents arguing all that much. Theirs hadn't been that kind of marriage.

"Did you miss my ' _yay_?'" is my only reply.

"I must have, over the maudlin sounds of string instruments on your end."

It's exactly what I needed to hear, and next I'm laughing, rolling my eyes at the phone.

Then, a moment later and as if in passing, Lu asks, "Heard from Mal?"

I'm walking down the hall towards the double door exit, faltering once I hear how casually he's asking.

"No," I say, which is technically the truth, since that night Mal called, it was Jessie he spoke with.

"Hmm."

Nice. Mighty vague there, Lu.

"He's gone AWOL," he supplies.

"You don't sound worried."

"I might've talked to him fairly recently. Which may or may not have involved me punching him in the stomach over things my twin may or may not have mentioned happened."

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"So, young lady, I'm plenty miffed with _you_ for good reason myself."

He chews me out, royally, as I step out into the parking lot.

"At least you should've kept him hanging for that jerk move with the mistletoe!" he gripes. "He practically _hoovered_ your mouth off your face in front of all of us and then can't admit it was him who started it? He puts it on your crush?!"

"Okay, one, taking advice from you about not putting out for your own brother?" I point out. "Just-no."

"Fine, fine," he replies, in more muted tones. "But come on, B.B-"

"Two-you weren't there." It was worth it, I'd never take it back. "I love you Parkers but my God, do you _ever_ know when to keep your nose out of it?"

He sighs, genuinely this time. "Believe it or not, I'm just a little thrown, babe. You didn't see him. He was-" he pauses, I guess searching for the right word. "Full on Unabomber look, all right? You could've hung ornaments off his beard."

"Well, how'd he sound? Did he mention any plans to go on a break?"

"Just that he was taking some time off from the office. His car's still in his driveway. But he's not answering his phone. My mom's suspecting an alien abduction. I can't tell if she's about to call the cops or NASA."

That stumps me. "NASA wouldn't handle those types of cases."

"No, but they have satellite feeds she'd like in on, probably not even in relation to Mal going missing."

I laugh. If he's still capable of joking, it can't be that serious.

But now a germ of worry's growing. Mal wouldn't just take off; I'd heard stories about him in his heyday, raising hell during his teens and college but as long as I'd known the Parkers, he'd never done anything rash like that.

Actually, he lives a pretty boring life, now that I think about it.

"We didn't part on bad terms, Lu. Whatever's going on, it...wasn't...me..."

I trail off as I approach the corner to turn towards the subway stop. The neighborhood is quiet for the most part but there's enough sketchiness that I've learned over the years to stay alert, and close to the streetlights. The one at the corner is bright; I can scream bloody murder in case anyone suspicious gets close and tries anything funny. It's a spot nobody would miss, under all that glare from the light.

Right now, I see a tall form leaning against a car, bundled in a nondescript jacket, hoodie in place and the shadow of thick facial hair staring back at me.

"B.B?" Lu prompts.

"Someone's here," I whisper, dazed while my hand quietly rummages through my purse.

"What?"

The guy straightens as I approach, his hoodie casting his face in shadows. His hands are in his pockets, and who the hell knows what he's going to pull out, so I whip one of my own up, my mini can of mace in hand.

Thing is, I've had this can for a while. It's touchy; the spray nozzle especially with the lightest pressure just goes nuts. Random strange man steps nearer, and while I'm not intending to spray him because he's still far enough that I can run if anything-

 _Pssssssssss._

The mace flies out in a wide arc, attacking anyway, when my hand spasms.

"Aaargh!"

Shit.

"Sorry!" Wait-no. Why am _I_ sorry? "Stay back! Or I'll spray you again!"

"Don't..." The guy bends over at the hips, coughing, fumbling blindly with one hand for something to lean against. I shy away, not wanting him to spread the pepper spray ingredients my way. He lands clumsily on the hood of his car, cursing as he covers his eyes with a hand.

"Keep away," I warn, retreating slowly.

"B.B..."

That freezes me, not just his use of my name, but the voice-

 _Oh, no._

"Unabomber?" I whisper, horrified.

"What?" comes the confused, strangled question, as he straightens up once more, his face contorted and eyes clenched shut, tearing. His nose isn't far behind, his hacking cough turning more pronounced.

Now the light's casting a familiar face in a sad, bright glow. Swollen lids, red and runny nose, and a dark, overgrown beard that could gain one entrance into Hell's Angels.

"Hellloooo, anyone there?"

The tinny voice sounds distant, until I remember-Lu's still on the phone. Pulling it back to my ear, I murmur, "Gotta go."

Then hang up, and rush towards Mal to help.

-x-O-x-


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Trying to wrap this up in the next week or two. Two chapters and an epilogue left. * sniffle * To MmeBlatte: glad CW grew a beard! Ha! I didn't see the video, but I wasn't sure if he could grow one the way I'm imagining Mal's. The way I'm picturing B.B. in this A/U is based off season 2 Bonnie hair when KG sported curls.

Edited to add: pretty much for this chapter, I had Leon Bridges 'River' and Adam Levine's 'Lost Stars' on repeat. Just wanted to throw that in. :)

 **Chapter XV**

 _I walked back to the subway station with a spring in my step._

 _The week after my graduation, I had my first interview, for a middle school in Brooklyn with a high teacher turnover rate and an end of year rating of D. Most times, struggling schools were the ones with a greater need for experienced teachers, but I went into the principal's office upbeat and hopeful. trying not to come across so eager (AKA desperate) that I would end up overselling myself. Language arts scores weren't great for the school, so the focus of the questions ended up being on how I dealt with struggling readers, my approach to balanced literacy, and my philosophy on bridging the achievement gap in reading and writing. The principal was tough but honest, and she seemed to like my answers, but even more, my dual certifications in Social Studies and English._

 _So yeah, I felt pretty good._

 _A feeling that died, when my phone rang and I picked up without first checking the caller ID._

 _"Hello?"_

 _"Hey. It's Mal."_

 _And sounding none too pleasant at the moment, as if he'd been coerced into dialing my number._

 _"Did something happen?"_

 _"Why do you always think a call from me is bad news?"_

 _Because he was a lawyer and we weren't chummy enough that calling me out of the blue meant anything other than weird? But not polite to blurt out, no matter how much I wanted to._

 _"Sorry," I offered, but pushing on anyway. "Is there? Bad news?"_

 _The long seconds it took to answer that is filled, on my end, with the rumble of a passing train._

 _"Where are you?" he finally asked._

 _"Heading home. I just finished an interview."_

 _"Good. That's good. It go well?"_

 _What did he really care?_

 _"Not in the sense where I got offered a position on the spot," I admitted. "But crossing my fingers she liked my approach to classroom advocacy." Then, because I'm still riding the high of a professional conversation that went better than I expected, I added, "Maybe she'll give me a shot. We had a good rapport, you know? I think she likes my teaching philosophy-well, it's new and shiny, at least. If I were her, I'd totally try to mold me now rather than later."_

 _"I'm betting," he replied, after the beat of another few seconds, "You were hard to resist, B.B."_

 _The words fill me with giddiness. Coming from him? Well, shit. Yes, I was tingling. Just a little._

 _"Thanks, Mal."_

 _I spent an undetermined length of time smiling goofily, there on the sidewalk by the train stop, probably creeping out passing commuters as I made my way through the crowd to wait on the platform._

 _"Anyway," he said, sounding far less grumpy now. "I have your graduation present. Just wondered if you wanted me to send it out or-" He stopped again, clearing his throat. "If you had plans to make a trip to see your grandmother soon. I could hold on to it and give it to you in person."_

 _"No plans yet. Probably not until a few months. But I mean, there's no rush. You can give it to her-"_

 _"No, it's fine. I'll send it out. It's a little bulky, not sure how they deliver at your place."_

 _"You didn't have to, Mal. Although if it's some kind of Rosie the robot prototype, I will love you forever."_

 _Words I didn't run through a filter, before they leapt out of my mouth. They sat between us, tension once more creeping into the line the longer he didn't answer. I didn't know why my subconscious was so intent on turning all of our exchanges into a messy puddle of inappropriate and awkward, but you know what? Years had passed. He had to know I was joking._

 _We would be fine. It meant nothing._

 _"I'll keep that in mind next time, B.B."_

 _His voice gruff, molasses lacing through it, and now-was I losing my mind? But now-_ _ **he**_ _was the one, prolonging the inappropriate._

 _Wtf?!_

 _But before that elephant in the room could continue being ignored on both ends, my phone cut off, as I moved further down the platform, the line disconnecting abruptly. During the ride home, the spotty signal showed me missed calls._

 _It wasn't until I got back to my apartment, changed into my robe and sat on my couch, processing the last few moments of that conversation, that I found the guts to check whose calls I'd missed._

 _Mal._

 _Twice. Oddly, or maybe understandably-no voicemail to go with either._

 _Which was fine, I realized, relief and something a little more bitter coloring my thoughts._

 _It meant nothing. As usual._

-x-O-x-

He's not a happy camper, I can tell because he keeps chuckling, but dark, like he's plotting to chop me up and feed me to whatever wild animal might be roaming these woods that he's guiding me to drive through.

What cements the idea is when I feel his eyes on me. I don't know if it's because his vision's probably still blurry, but when I look back at him, there's no smile or smirk or a hint of anything in his eyes that tells me-he's _not_ the Unabomber right now.

I mean, I know better...but this is verging on creepy.

A blanket rests on the back seat, which has been folded down. Above our heads is a large expanse of a moon roof window, revealing clear stars. The rest of the car is dark upholstery, the scent of clean still fresh and carrying crisply to my nose. It's a rental, but _why? why? why?_ runs through my mind, its little legs unceasing in its repetitive jog.

The car stays quiet, as he directs me to exit the freeway. No music, no conversation, just this beyond scruffy version of the lawyer formerly known as Mal on the passenger seat, looking battered.

I start to get ants in my pants, checking over my shoulder again without any reason except the sense of needing to.

"If you're looking for the dead bodies," comes the low, tight voice. "I don't hide them in the back seat."

I cut my eyes across to him.

"Stains," he taunts.

There's the Mal I know and lo-

Mentally, I choke myself from finishing that thought.

"Where are we going?" I sound equally thrilled. "Log cabin where you turn me into itty bitty B.B. pieces?"

I can't decide if he's fighting a smile of gleeful anticipation or just amused, or maybe he's just grimacing off the last bit of the effects from the mace. But then his eyes flash with a tiny hint of amusement when he goes to look out the window, sparking something warm in my belly. I have to look away myself, tame my own need to grin.

"Dobbs Ferry. There's a place I used to go hiking here, back when I lived around these parts."

That's the first full sentence that's come out where his voice doesn't hold promise of murder.

"Left?"

I'm trying to pacify. I've had a long day of work, granted. But Mal's face is puffy, red, and I think I should've taken him home instead of let guilt spur me to carry out his plans for the night.

This park is in the northern part of Westchester county; I estimate that I'm at least an hour away from my apartment in Brooklyn, but do I complain? Nope. Not when my trigger happy fingers have turned Mal's face into an ad for anaphylaxis reactions.

Presently, he points me where to turn into the grounds. It's silent here, equally empty. I don't think my can of mace will do much in case we run into trouble, but Mal appears to share none of my concerns when he grabs the blanket from the backseat.

We'd made a detour earlier for milk, saline solution, and spent half an hour cleaning out the oil mix from his eyes and face and hands. Now he's a lot better, enough that he's capable of glowering at me, as he stalks out the car towards the trunk, carting out two lawn chairs and an enormous backpack that he straps on, before handing me a large thermos.

Wordlessly, I follow him.

Hours later, we're camped out on a flat field, a canopy of thick evergreens encircling us below a wide canvas of clear night skies, complete with a trillion stars winking down. It's almost romantic...if I avoid looking at Mal's swollen eyes and the remains of blotchy on his face.

The blanket's spread over both of us, the thermos resting on the ground nearly empty now. I don't want to look at my watch to see how incredibly past my bed time it, never mind that it's Friday. There's no such thing as bedtime on Fridays until you reach a certain age where you realize that-yes, there has to be, because your eyes despite what the cartoons present really can't abide being propped up by toothpicks.

But tonight...there isn't. Even when I start yawning, I just snuggle further under the blanket, while he shares stories about his time here on this side of the coast, during law school and his early days in legal aid working with the inner city clients in Bridgeport. At some point, his dark head's tilted more closely to mine, as we both stare up at the sky, Mal's honeyed tones turning almost into a lullaby the longer he speaks.

It's the most I've ever heard him share of himself.

When he turns quiet, I let my eyes drift close briefly.

"Did I put you to sleep?" He sounds amused.

"No." And since I'm relaxed enough to be honest, I add, "I could listen to you all night. You've got one of those voices."

"I get that a lot."

Groaning, stifling my laugh at the conceit lacing his comment, I go to kick his foot. He takes the chance to trap it between his, tangling our legs, and warmth shoots up, turning my cheeks flush because up until this point, we'd avoided contact. He pours more hot chocolate into my mug, offering it up, the steam warming my face even worse.

"Why are you here, Mal?" I finally ask.

"Signed up as a consultant at Emma's firm. I'm in town for a couple weeks. Getting oriented. She says hi, by the way. Among other things," he adds in a disgruntled mutter.

"I like Emma," I supply lamely.

He throws me the oddest look. "Right. _Just a spot of lovely,_ was it?"

Of course he'd remember my words, and of course he'd try to mimic my butchery of an English accent. Though in his case, it's not a bad attempt. "Still doesn't answer...why are you _here_?"

For a beat, he just blinks.

"I don't know how, after years practically growing up with my siblings, none of them ever took you to see this." The meteor showers are at their brightest now, leaving little commas streaking through the inky sky, random and closer together. It's my first witnessing it and I've already cast a few dozen secret wishes.

"As gung-ho for Eastern thinking as my mom is, she's superstitious when it comes to how twins run in our family. She's got a complex about Geminis. It's the only sign in the Western zodiac she pays any attention to. Funny enough, none of us are that."

He points up to the familiar set of bright points above our heads. "Know what those are?"

I'm not an expert on the constellations but a few of the brighter ones I've been schooled on, when I was younger and tinkered around with a starter telescope my dad gave me for my birthday.

"Castor and Pollux?" I try.

His quick glance at me gleams with appreciation that I look away from quickly. "Yup. The eyes of the Twins. They always peak same week in December. When I was younger, my parents made a huge deal. Like a whole ritual and everything. Candles, incense, the works."

"Animal sacrifice?" I can't help asking.

"Not that traumatic. No longer as involved now, but we're still big on the Geminids. Word is," he adds, angling his head closer, his voice dropping ever more mellifluous, as if he's trying to talk me into sharing confidences. "If you really want something, you bank on a shooting star tonight to make it happen."

"Is this the part where you tell me what you really want?"

I don't look at him, avoiding the chance of seeing burning eyes or a knowing smirk or anything that will sway me in any way; instead, I find my still steaming cup of hot chocolate vastly fascinating as I wait for the answer.

"That's jinxing it, B.B." Then he pours into his own mug, leaning against his seat and taking a relaxed sip, tilting his head back up, never once looking my way. "Anyway, I've got enough wishes stored up over the years. Figured it was time for you to work on yours."

"Is storing all my eggs in a basket made of flying pieces of broken rock supposed to give me better luck than wishing on an actual star? Being the ones we're looking at now are all dead."

His mouth forms a silent 'wow' as he stares at his mug, shaking his head. "Debbie Downer much?"

Well, what's he expect? That I'd be fawning over the scenery and the atmosphere like some dreamy-eyed ingénue? I'd been around the block a little too long, for this to work the way it does in all those movies. The universe is one massive state of entropy-fact. Can't deny that.

"Also, don't believe the hype. Stars are as mortal as man, true, but it takes a lot longer for them to wink out. Have a little confidence. Much of what you see-" now he does look at me, hooded now, the mellow from moments ago gone. "Isn't going anywhere. Not yet. Not for awhile, Bonnie."

Then he carries on like those words shouldn't stick, but they do, right between my ears, planting the seed of something both thrilling and terrifying, turning the world blurry for a moment. Taking a deep, calming breath...I let the seed grow.

-x-O-x-

7:28 pm

 _Doing anything on Friday?_

7:46 pm

 _Wrapping gifts._

7:49 pm

 _There's this thing for work. Be my plus one?_

8:41 pm

 _It's a_ _ **lot**_ _of gifts._

8:42 pm

 _No pressure. Non-date, non-event, if it makes you feel better. Get a little dressed up and have a night out. You're allowed. Come on, B.B._

9:17 pm

 _will Emma be there? lol ;)_

9:23 pm

 _ha ha... :(_

The week of Christmas, my family's still in town, as is Mal.

He's made it a point of popping up...everywhere. I don't get how? First, of course, at my job, meeting up with me like it's something routine now that we've fallen into, after that initial pepper spraying. Once, instead of hanging by the subway station, he actually made it _inside_ , ducking his head into my classroom after a long day with a fresh bag of take out. Having impromptu early dinner with me, spurring curious co-workers to peek in and wonder when the hell I gained my new, mysterious, sexy friend.

The beard's slightly less fuzzy now, though still more than I'm used to. Still also, in a show of patent unfairness, capable of coaxing warmth to pool low in my belly at the thought of being able to run my hands through it. Especially when he combines it with his suits and a coat that fits him snugly and too well, in a way where every time I see it, I'm seized with the urge to pounce.

Damn Mal.

Now he looks at home-whether it's sharing a train ride with me or eating up pavement as we find ourselves, more and more, squeezing in meals or coffee meets when we can. By the second week, I have extra time on my hands with my winter break, while he's bringing himself up to speed in his new consulting gig which seems to have less demands on him than his regular job that's he's taken a short leave of absence from.

Having all this time to ourselves is strange but wonderful. It's like having Lu around, to hang with and unwind-except for the small matter of fighting the need to strip each other of our clothes and get busy. Well, on my part, at least. Every time I see Mal, inappropriate thoughts zing through my brain with no effort. Once in a while, there's enough heat in his gaze on me where I suspect he's having similar issues but, overall, he's doing a swell job of overlooking it.

So we're getting to a good place. I think. Enough that I find talking to him about my family isn't odd. I mention as much to him, the morning we grab brunch at the diner near my apartment, before he's off to work.

"Hello, have you met mine?" Mal asks, while we sit in the booth. "But what am I saying? You're practically an honorary Parker at this point, B.B. Put in years bearing witness to the bouts of crazy in my family. I think all of us owe you a lifetime of hearing out your griping about your own."

"I'm not griping," I protest.

"You can if you want," he replies, smirking. "You think your dad's being too soft on your mom. And what was wrong with you as a child that your mom was willing to throw it all away just for a life of struggle? But now wants to start over again, with a different built-in kid this time to take your place. Selfish, unfair, and plain old dumb."

He takes a huge serving of food, while I chew my own and stare back thoughtfully.

"Not to mention, you were a much cuter kid." Then he waves his fork at me. "Thing is, B.B. Don't go for the obvious and lay the blame on yourself. Parents' screw ups are on the parents, not on anyone else. There was _nothing_ wrong with you."

Leave it to Mal to break it all down, sum it up in a nutshell. And get me. I might love him a little for this, putting into words exactly how I've been feeling. In thanks, I pay for his breakfast, even though he's none too thrilled at first when he finds me sneaking that in. Only to switch gears, tossing me a shit-eating grin that our next meal will be on him.

It's getting easier to go along with his plans.

Meanwhile, my parents are busy doing the tourist thing with Jamie. They invite me along, not to play tour guide for them but it's what I end up doing and I find, after that conversation with Mal, that I'm a lot less resentful about it. Especially since my mom and Jamie, though they try to play it cool, have stars in their eyes everywhere they look. The city is a novelty for them, everything's fresh. It's a reminder, for me, to avoid taking things for granted. My dad's happy I try to stick around, and I eventually start to get comfortable. It's a weird thing, having a salad bowl nuclear family. But Jamie's a good kid and my mom's different this time around.

As always, I refuse to reflect too long on the past, whenever I'm around them.

One afternoon, we take a trip to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. My Dad and I walk the base of the statue, while my mom and Jamie have decided it's a good idea trekking all the way to the top for the view. I'm nursing a hot cup of coffee trying to convince myself it was a good idea staying outside in the chilly air, but my frozen fingers are telling me otherwise.

Dad chooses that moment, when I'm regretting my bout of hypothermia, to smile widely and ask, "Are you happy?"

My extremities, not so much just then, but I get his point, so I smile back through chattering teeth, and reply, "I am if you are."

He guides us to towards the entrance, where a few people are milling around. There, we catch a break from the blustery wind, and Dad tries again.

"I know you're worried," he says. "But I'm going to give this a shot. It's all you can do for the people you love, B.B."

That's the thing. He's always been about my mom; never once stopped throughout the years.

For a long time, I thought this made him such a fool. But I can't share that with him now, or ever, actually. Instead, I take a sip of my coffee and give a vague nod in agreement, while internally my worry grows by leaps and bounds. My mom has changed, but that in itself isn't a guarantee that my dad will get what he's been looking for from her.

Presently, Mom and Jamie return, excitement lighting up their faces.

"If you liked that view, wait til you see the top of the Empire State," Dad says.

I would've liked to go, but I had plans. Nothing all that exciting-another favor for Lu, actually. But Mal would be there and like always, butterflies are already stirring to life in my stomach the closer the time comes to meet up with him.

-x-O-x-

Lu's apartment is a brownstone two bedroom in Brooklyn. He took over the lease from this guy, a nephew of an elderly couple who'd lived in it for decades. The guy listed Lu as a cousin several times removed, so Lu could avail of the rent-stabilized lease. He'd hit the jackpot with it, as it's near the subway, enormous, and the only regular problem he'd had was the furnace, which probably needs replacing but for now, functioned fine with a little periodic tinkering.

It's a hard place to give up, but this is precisely what he has to do, now that he's moving back to Portland.

B.B. and I are at the apartment now, packing up the odds and ends he'd left behind. Mostly electronics, things from the kitchen. Some clothes in his closet. The furniture, he planned to donate. Or leave as is, to maybe market as a furnished apartment. He still had over half the year left on the lease, and breaking it meant penalties.

"There's barely any clothes," calls B.B. from the room. "Just enough to fill one luggage."

Which she rolls out minutes later, twirling the spinning luggage idly as she moves to perch on the arm of the lone sofa in the enormous living room. With her chin in hand, I detect notes of wistfulness in both her face and voice as she says, casting a glance around, "I forget how massive his place is. My entire apartment can fit here, in this living room."

"Why didn't you ever move in with him?"

She shrugged. "I'd already found my place by the time his roommate left. Plus..."

I think I know what's coming, from Miss I-Need-Breathing-Room.

"...I don't think I can go back to rooming."

She stands in front of the tall windows, with a partial view of the park down the road.

"Maybe with the right person," I toss back casually. "Some thoughtful, organized feminist who shares your love of history and won't judge when you decide to walk around for months with shaggy armpits and legs."

She bursts into laughter, so hearty and full I put down the things I'm packing in the kitchen and walk over to her, cracking my own grin. She's leaning her head back against the window, shaking her head at me but with a lot of good-natured humor lighting up her eyes.

Something gets stuck a little in my throat, while I watch her this way. I want a thousand more moments like this with her. At least.

"Who told you my secret? Was it Lu? I made him swear never- _ever_ ," she widens her eyes at me with mock seriousness, "to let anyone know about my hairy hibernation period."

My brain is a damn traitor, though. As much as I want to keep up the banter, I'm getting flashbacks of her smooth, silky caramel skin, soft on my lips and under my fingertips. Sensitive to my every taste and touch. So I can't form a coherent reply just now, stuck as I am on the moments of intimacy between us. Not only intimacy, but raw abandon. The kind of connection I've never had before, with anyone else.

The longer I don't speak, the more her smile dies. This close, I see the second her eyes grow dark, as we stare at each other.

I've been trying to avoid moments like these. We have too many of them, when instead what we really need is to clear the air properly. But she's so damn skittish, and it's fucking killing me. I understand it more, sure. Especially with the way she keeps talking about her family, in her unguarded moments. Now I can pinpoint her specific baggage.

But it doesn't make the constant sense of erosion in my gut hurt any less, being around her while not being _with_ her, the way we should be.

"We should talk," I tell her, my voice gruff.

"Totally," she agrees, but too breezily. "About your brother and this habit he has of misleading us. I thought I came here to actually pack aaand instead I'm just picking through his five remaining outfits?"

She moves away, pulling out her phone.

If she calls him, Lu will cover, I know. Truth is, he'd only asked me to come out here, hadn't thought of getting B.B. getting involved until I asked him to. Not out of any real sense of putting her to work. He knows why I wanted this. It's only ever her company I need. And for once, he'd done as I asked with minimal grumbling.

"Don't blow it," he'd said.

I'm trying.

Stepping close behind her, my hands find her arms to stop her retreat. I'm too close, but it's my best chance to get to her. Slow her down, keep her in one spot long enough to hear me out. But it's a double-edged sword. The curls tumbling down her back are tousled, too tempting for me not to touch and finger the texture of. The scent of her is too goddamn arresting. I get distracted, as much as she gets flustered, being this far into each other's personal space.

But with effort, I manage to lift my hands away. Sharing just body heat now, and a few breaths.

"Lu thinks I'm just your excuse."

It's the best I can come up with, to throw down the gauntlet.

She half-turns, giving me a tantalizing view of the curve of her cheek.

"What'd you even like about me, B.B?" I was the resident jerk in my family, around the time she and her grandmother joined the neighborhood. "Really. Can't just be that I brought Miss Cuddles out of the truck for you while my siblings laughed about your teddy bear."

"You were fearless." She doesn't even hesitate. "Back when I was a kid, I liked that. You weren't worried about anyone or anything."

"I had you...by being an asshole."

"Mal," she turns fully, peering up at me with more than a hint of exasperation. "Assholes don't remember things like a girl's name for her teddy bear."

I nod. "And my impressive memory."

The way she purses her mouth gives me hope. Now I see it irks her, because this is sort of like fishing for compliments but I can't stop. I need to know what she sees. To get the bad taste in my mouth out, that had been there since Lu first made the suggestion that none of it really meant anything to her. I'm just her excuse to keep other men away.

Other men like Jessie. Who sounded, on the phone, probably far closer to her age. Lived nearer. All things I don't much care about, really. When it comes to potential complications, well, let's see...there's being nearly two decades apart, two coasts geographically separated, _and_ interracial to boot.

Still, nothing that should get in our damn way.

Our history more than anything else is the real obstacle. I'm ready to obliterate it.

"Why'd you give up a chance to be a high-flying lawyer out here?" she asks. "Just to live in Portland, and be surrounded by relatives you talk about killing off slowly and hiding their bodies where nobody can find. The same relatives who have your number on speed dial because for all your bark, you sure do show up quick in emergencies."

She frowns at my chest, I think fighting an urge to smack it.

"You're on Grams' speed dial. You take days off to fix her electrical. I know you've been working on her yard. Taking over for your dad."

When she smiles up at me, it's a lot of sad and resigned. Drawing out regret and guilt on my part-I caused that look on her face. Me. Took away her old fascination from years back and with my shitty approach to dealing with her feelings for me, turned it into this.

"At fourteen, it wasn't just a crush. Lu knew. Whatever he tells you, it's because he figured it out way back, along with Grams." Her shrug is dismissive. "I was a weird kid, and you were the right person to be my first love."

Oh, God. The best and worst thing-to have it confirmed, that Lu's wrong. It meant something, and way damn more than a fucking crush.

B.B. laughs, so full of cynicism and light mockery I can't even take it. I have to look away from that face that haunts me now, in waking moments and at night when I'm too tortured with missteps to get any sleep.

"Then you did me the biggest favor and broke my heart. Which-I don't think I've thanked you for. I say that with all sincerity."

It wasn't nothing. It could've been more, for years, but I shredded it and tossed it in the trash.

She reaches out, lightly touches my arm to give me a more genuine smile that's a million times worse.

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad, Mal," she says softly. "I got over it. And Lu has it partially right. You did sort of end up an excuse. Saved me from heartache with a lot of guys over the years. So don't beat yourself up too bad. Especially now."

"What's different about now?"

"Gee, I don't know, you've had it tough being the only one really there for your parents, and I'm worried about you, and I can finally admit I care without it being creepy?" Her hand lingers, but only to squeeze my arm in reassurance. "You guys are like my adopted family. I love you Parkers. Now you don't have to be the exception."

I've never bled out from someone's kindness this way. Her compassion and affection are sharper than knives. Just when I think it's not possible for her to dig any deeper into my crater wound, she surprises me.

"With Lu gone, I could use a friend close to home right about now. And no 'fense, Mal. But it's not as if you have a closet full of those. So could you."

-x-O-x-

A few days later, after dropping off several bags and a box of things culled from Lu's apartment for donation, I get an unexpected call.

Sitting on a bench outside the Goodwill store and waiting on Mal to finish up, I press the phone closer, trying to make sense of the excited voice on the other end, gushing in my ear.

"Tiki, wait, you're breaking up-"

"Matt and I are at the airport. Long layover. Meet us for lunch. We've got a surprise for you!"

This is already enough of a surprise. But I haven't seen them in a couple months, and I always miss my Mystic Falls crew. She gives me instructions how to meet up, vague as usual, since Tiki is the anti-Caro, impulsive to the bone and allergic to anything resembling organized. The deep laughter in the background on the other end makes me smile, just before Matt gets on.

"Hey, B.B." His voice is warm, honey and molasses with the ol' country boy, heart of gold charm pouring out of it.

Mal appears by my side.

"Hey yourself, stranger," I tease on the phone.

"How 'bout those specific set of instructions, huh?" Matt asks.

I have to laugh, especially when I hear Tiki's outrage carry through. But soon, I know to meet them by the bistro grill on the second level, in an hour and a half. Giving me plenty of time to make the trek by train.

Mal's cocked his brow. "I can head back my hotel. If you have to be somewhere."

"Or-" I can't help making a face, thinking I'm being rude, making him feel like he's imposing. "Well, did you have plans for the rest of the afternoon?"

He shrugs his no.

"Do you want to come out with me?" I ask hesitantly. "It's my friends from back home. Spur of the moment lunch. Kind of a thing Tiki does."

He nods now, falling into step beside me as we walk back to the subway station.

"Tiki?" His smile is neutral as we wait on the platform. "The only guy I know of with that name is the football player. I'm imagining that's what he looks like."

"You've got the skin color right, everything else way off," I say, laughing. "Tiki's my girlfriend."

"Oh." He clears his throat. "Thought I heard a guy's voice."

"Yeah, that's Matt." I can't help grinning, thinking of meeting up with them. It's been a while. And they had a surprise-usually those were good, the last one during my trip to Mystic Falls, when they'd rented out a log cabin for the weekend for us and Caro, to be one with nature. Tiki's idea, once she'd turned a leaf and seemed to accept Matt's rugged outdoorsy approach to living, to offset her own princess upbringing. Caro had lasted only three hours, but I made use of the time to catch up with the pair.

Nostalgic, I launch into stories about my friends as we make our way through two boroughs on the A line.

By the time we arrive, Mal's caught up on the somewhat turbulent history with me and my friends. Including Tiki and Caro's ultra-competitiveness with each other, Matt's brief stint in boot camp because of a school prank that went wrong, and the last time we'd all been together, on my twenty-first birthday.

Many of the details from that time, Mal seems to remember pretty accurately. Because of that phone call years back. Which-no problem-I can shrug off, though a part of me gets stuck on if he recalls those moments during the call that'd touched on things like personal massagers and significant others in our lives.

Loaded, loaded moments...which I at the time had not been aware should've been exploited. Though maybe that's a good thing, in hindsight.

The coolness I sensed from him earlier's died down. I don't know if it's the idea of meeting new people since he's not usually one to socialize all that much, but when we actually slide into the booth opposite my friends...Mal's all smiles and affability. Smoothly charming the socks off Tiki while getting friendly with Matt.

Right off the bat, I introduce him as my friend so there's no confusion, but then as the meal wears on, I find myself leaning against Mal, whose got his arm resting along the back of the booth, cradling my back in a way and encouraging the impression that...well, something's up. Matt and Tiki both keep throwing glances at each other, in between furtively looking across at us; it's not obvious. I don't even think Mal picks up on it, but I've known the pair sitting across from me since kindergarten.

When Mal disappears for a few minutes to get his midday dose of a caffeine kick, I feel the anticipation build, while Tiki checks to make sure he's gone.

"Oh, wow, B.B." She's biting down on her nail, looking far too pleased with me. "So _that's_ Mr. Portland? Boy howdy. You've been holding out, chica!"

Ugh, my God. I really regret my moment of weakness from years and years back in high school, when I was drunk and unleashed my worst lovesick adolescent mope session on Caro, going on and on about Mal. Because in doing so, it meant down the line that everyone else would know.

"Don't call him that," I grumble.

"Obviously, not to his face." She nudges Matt. "Input?"

"He's cool," Matt says, shrugging.

"Uh, more than cool. And, sorry, girl, but I'm not buying what you're selling 'cause you're _clearly_ more than friends."

"Tiki..."

She raises her hands, schooling her features into composure. "Yep, okay. Dropping it." Except she tosses one of her narrow-eyed smiles, a hint of the old bratty princess peeking out. "But I'll just say this. If he comes back with two cups, that means I'm right."

"Think it just means, he's got manners," Matt says.

"Thank you," I tell him, exaggerating my tone.

"Nope, means I'm right."

I scrounge up my best glare, but it doesn't last in the face of Tiki's knowing little eyebrow raises and head nods. Eventually Matt gives in, laughing, because he always does with her.

"She might have a point," he concedes. "He, uh, does keep sniffing your hair."

"Mmm." Tiki purses her mouth, as if for validation. "See?"

Which, as frustrating as they are, is just funny. I don't know why I expect them to back off. They haven't seen in me in so long that of course, they're gonna give me a hard time. "How's Vicky?" I ask Matt.

"Good, finishing at Art and Design. Her and Jeremy are both competing for the same internship."

"Should be fun. Dueling couples." Matt's got this fierce frown though, so I mimic it, adding quickly, "Let it go on record I'm Team Vicky. All the way."

Which coaxes a smile.

Just then, Mal reappears, sliding back into the seat next to me, resuming our far too cozy positions without effort. And incidentally, placing his cup of coffee down...along with mine. Three sets of eyes trail the coffees.

When I happen to glance up, sipping from my cup, Tiki's rubbing a hand across her mouth thoughtfully, rearranging her grip on her chin to show me-two fingers, tapping against her jaw.

I cough up my sip. Snorting a little. Definitely not cute or ladylike, and Mal's right next to me to bear witness.

"So," Mal says, patting my back mildly. "What'd I miss?"

I'm still hacking up my lungs, none too gracefully.

"Geeze, B.B.," Matt says. "You okay?"

Tiki glances innocently away when I glare at her while nodding.

"Might be hard to imagine now," Matt teases, addressing Mal. "But that one was once Prom Queen."

No. Just no. What's he doing?

"That's right," Tiki says, angling her head over to Matt. "And this one was Prom King."

Matt grins. "I may or may not have stuffed the ballots that night."

Mal chuckles as his gaze rakes over me. Much as I'm fighting not to react, because there are two highly inquisitive faces keeping track, my cheeks give my sudden flush of warmth away.

"Somehow I doubt that was necessary," he says easily, his thumb just happening to brush my shoulder then.

"Yeah, I totally hated you that night," Tiki admits, tossing me a mock glare.

Matt scratches his head. "Baby, you voted for her."

"Shut up. Don't ever tell Caro that."

They share a grin that turns warm, intimate, secretive, and then it hits me that I've forgotten to ask.

"All right," I say. "So what's your surprise?"

They both grow utterly still and quiet, both biting down on their mouths, at the same damn time that's beyond freaky. And yet, they say nothing, keeping me in suspense, to the point where now-in light of my run of iffy luck-I wonder if it's a _good_ surprise?

Mal leans towards me, whispering close, helping not at all with the confusion I'm already juggling.

"Just a guess," his breath against my ear tickles, gives me goosebumps, and turns my thoughts hazy. I don't want it to stop. "Are those matching bands on their left hands new accessories?"

When I catch sight of them, my eyes pop open, and a little garbled cry gets stuck in my mouth.

Then Tiki's shrieking, holding her hand up to show me better, Matt lagging behind but his grin no less bright.

"When-what-you-" I can only sputter.

"Chapel in Atlanta. Yesterday."

"Honeymoon?"

Matt nods, sheepish. "Short one. Because I gotta get back to work in a couple days."

"Oh, wow," I say, beaming. "Your parents are so going to murder you, Tik. But this is amazing."

They've been together for only a few years, but have been in love since forever. But with Matt's other-side-of-the-tracks family and Tiki's parents being super strict and demanding and ultra-conservative with their expectations of their daughter, the deck had sort of been stacked against them. But it's been obvious since at least middle school that there was something there. Tiki just kept herself in the supportive best friend role, until the day Matt found Vicky nearly OD-ing a couple years ago. That's when some kind of dam broke and Tiki grew extra backbone and went after what she wanted.

Their marriage? It's been a long time coming.

I leap out of my seat, dragging them both up into a collective hug. "Congratulations," I whisper, and because I remember the tears and fights that I bore witness to, all these years being their friend and seeing the struggle-I get just a little sniffly. "Ah, you guys suck. Where's the damn tissues?"

Later, after we've parted, and I've seen the last of my friends disappear through the gate, this massive lump in my throat doesn't go away, as I stand before the windows, tracking the comings and goings of different planes.

Mal stands beside me, hands in pockets, every once in a while shooting me glances.

"Least you got out of having to wear an ugly bridesmaid dress," he finally teases.

Exactly the right thing to pull me out of my unexpected funk, having to say good-bye to my friends again.

"Don't be so sure," I tell him, once we're back on the train, which is strangely a little deserted for the time of day. Mal and I are almost the only ones on our side of the car. "Tiki's mom's gonna push for some kind of ceremony. Never mind that she's not a fan of Matt or mixed coupling in general."

He shifts on his seat, turning so our thighs graze against each other. "Your friends made it seem like it's been easy."

I say nothing. Mal's too close again, a little too much meaning in his low tone for me to safely imagine that anything good can come of me answering that.

The subway rumbles along, swaying us. I brush against him, tingling from the contact even though it shouldn't be like this because I've made it clear already. Yes, we mean something now to each other. We're friends.

But that old saying about worthwhile things never being easy is on the tip of my tongue, wanting out, and the longer I feel Mal's gaze roaming my features, the more I can't help daring myself to blurt it. But it's too cliche. So in typical social studies teacher fashion I play it off, sitting up primly, averting my face while I clear my throat.

"Let's play Guess the Dead President," I begin, trying to come off more strict than teasing. "Who said this? 'Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing-'"

"'Unless it means effort, pain, difficulty.'" The smile in his eyes is dangerous, and that smirk, and most of all, our isolation in this corner of the subway. "Theodore Roosevelt. My turn."

I know I won't like it, judging by the blatant evil gleaming from his eyes.

"'If you've got them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.'"

While I wrack my brain and simultaneous roll my eyes and try not to fight heat on my cheeks, he's holding back laughter until I open my mouth to answer. "LBJ."

He looks impressed, then horny. God. The train enters a tunnel, lights flickering in and out briefly. Mal tucks my hair behind my ear, tracing with a knuckle along my jaw before he tilts my chin up, bringing our faces closer.

"Me again," I whisper, my voice too low and throaty for my liking. "'I have a terrific headache.'"

Mal barks out a laugh. "That's not even real. You made that up."

"FDR's last words, when he died of a brain bleed." But I can't help it, because I'm a history teacher, so this is my forte, and so far Mal's the only guy who made it past round one. Only round one, granted, but...if we weren't on a train just then, I'm not sure I'd be responsible for my actions.

His beard tickles my temple, when he leans in to whisper, "Your friends figured it out, B.B. Think we ever will?"

His aftershave, his nearness, his words-I'm on overload, he has to know. But he won't back off. Okay, so I'm in for a fight. Next time I'll be prepared.

I turn away, staring out the window to the gray New York skyline facing us, now that we're out of the tunnel.

"Haven't we already?" I reply, nonchalant.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter XVI**

Tonight is the _non-date, non-event_ with Mal.

He made it sound like a small thing initially, but then there's the long, ribboned box that's waiting outside my door, when I get home. Along with a note from him that again emits nothing but casual, almost harmless intent.

 _Found a dress you might like. - Mal_

Following which I sit on my bed, spazzing for a few minutes. It's a lucky thing my phone rings then, before I end up taking a trip into outer space. But it's Caro of all people on the other end. She of the lifestyle that involves men routinely buying any and all sundry things, to pay tribute to her excellency. She'll laugh, if she knows how this one thing from Mal is short circuiting my brain.

"Did you like my gift?" she greets me in that high tone that tells me she's either pressed for time or annoyed with someone.

"Haven't opened it, it's not yet Christmas, Caro."

"It's lingerie, B.B. The gist is that you wear it and turn _yourself_ into a present for a special someone this year."

"No such thing," I mutter, while my cheeks blaze at my own blatant lie.

"Uh-huh. What happened to Mr. Portland? I've heard interesting things from Tiki."

"Nothing happened with him. He's here in town for work." Then because I've got a hunch and not in any way to deflect, "Were you there when she and Matt got hitched?"

She scoffs. "Hello. It was practically my idea, B.B. I was their first witness."

My mock enraged growl has her laughing. She knows I'm kidding. All three of them are still in Mystic Falls, it's only right Caro served as witness. Times like this, though, I wonder how different my life might be now if I'd never left town.

We spend a few minutes catching up. I listen to her complain about her mom being appointed commissioner and trying to recruit her into a position with the PR department for city hall. That's Caro's background, she could handle that easily, but the working with her mom thing might drive her nuts.

When it's my turn to share, and I tell her my entire family's in town for the holidays, in typical Caro style, she cuts me off mid-story, saying bluntly, "B.B. sweetie, you can't spend the rest of the year making it all about your parents' life. You have your own."

"I'm not," I say, scoffing, fingering the dress on my bed that's calling my name.

It's exactly my size.

"Hey, Caro?" I start hesitantly. "So, um, when a guy buys you a dress-"

"Wear it, knowing the entire time his eyes are on you, he's envisioning peeling it off your body-with his teeth. Wait, what's the dress for?"

"Some work thing."

"Don't tell me...you haven't even put it on yet. Or your makeup. Or went to get your hair done."

"I can do my own hair and makeup in half an hour, tops."

"God, B.B. Next time give me a little notice and I can send someone your way. You're lucky it doesn't take much to spruce you up."

"Gee, thanks?"

She laughs. "Open my present. Have fun with Mr. Portland."

The dress is long, soft, and slinky, hugging my curves in all the right ways. It's tasteful, but there's a peek-a-boo slit mid-thigh that has me wondering what Mal might've imagined, when he picked this for me to wear to a work function. A lot of nice, a little bit naughty, and-

 _Oh, yes,_ whispers bad little B.B. from some dark corner of my brain, _go be naughty again, on top of and under and tangled up with him, over and over, every day until he goes._

I make a beeline for Caro's present under my small tree in the corner of my living room. This year I went with a tiny four footer because any larger than that and my matchbox apartment will feel like a closet. The delicate, expensive wrapping paper peels easily under my shaky fingers, and when I open it, tiny little panties and a barely there bra in black lace greet my eyes, along with garter stockings.

Mocking me.

I don't put it on, instead sliding into another set of underwear-a nice pair, seamless and comfortable and nowhere near as racy.

Ten minutes before Mal's supposed to pick me up, I exchange them for Caro's set.

"What're you doing," I whisper to myself, avoiding glancing in the mirror so I don't sike myself out as I pull the dress back on.

Five minutes to ETA, I try to take my dress back off, realizing there's no way I can walk around on Mal's arm greeting his colleagues with lacey floss between my asscheeks. No. It can't happen.

My phone buzzes with a new text.

 _I'm at the curb, want me to come up?_

 _No!_

So no time to change back into my comfy set. It's fine. I slip on my heels, then zip my dress back up. But because I've done musical undies, the zipper on my dress is rebelling. Stuck. Meanwhile, I guess my desperation bled too much into my reply, because his response is-

 _Have you changed your mind? I'm coming up._

 _Don't!_

The zipper's jammed near my lower back, the stupid lace stuck somewhere in its latch.

"Dammit dammit dammit, you idiot," I hiss to myself, hopping around in a mad hope that wild movement will fix it.

Then comes the knock.

"B.B?"

Mal's voice at my door does odd things to me. That he's actually here, in the first place, is one thing. All the times we've seen each other in the last two weeks, not once have I actually invited him inside. But there's a first time for everything, and if I want to make it out of this apartment, I'll need his help with the stuck zipper. Unless I decide to risk incivility and rip off the dress to put on a new one.

I lean against the wall, quiet, creeping along it until I get to the door, then close my eyes, knock my head back and mutter, "Shit."

"Heard that."

"No," I groan. "It's not what you think. I didn't change my mind."

His sigh of relief is mixed in with a deep chuckle. "Phew. Had me worried. I've kinda been hyping my plus one to everyone all week, so that'd leave me in the lurch if you backed out."

"You can always call an escort service."

"True. Know any good ones?"

Walked right into that. "Try Yelp."

"B.B...much as I enjoy bantering with you through a closed door, we really should get going."

"I...can't. Not yet." Then, I bump my head against the wall one more time for kicks. "Look, you can come in, but don't-don't give me a hard time."

His overdramatic gasp carries through the door, sounding offended- _"I would never"_ -being the obvious message. He's _already_ giving me a hard time without even having to say anything.

"Forget it."

"No, no, no, okay, sorry. I'll stop. Let me in."

Slowly unlatching the locks, I try to school myself, holding my dress up at the neck for a semblance of modesty. From the front, it works. Vaguely, I can only cross my fingers that the back isn't a whole-nother-story.

When I open my door, what stands before me is polished masculinity, oozing sex appeal but worse-competency. In a tux, Mal is lethal. Put together, debonair, but still sporting the beard. Oh, geeze, the contrast has my mouth turning dry at the sight of him, and I need to get a grip. But it irks, too, how he's always this unflappable creature in comparison to me being kind of a walking disaster. Ugh. I kinda envy it. But I remember my manners, and instead of sending off resentful vibes, I just nod coolly.

"You clean up well."

Dark eyes rove over my form, something wicked gleaming out that disappears in the next moment. "Same." Then he looks around, taking in the rest of the space, which doesn't take all that long because it's very, very tiny, and I'm not one to accumulate stuff, unlike Grams.

"So," he says cheerfully as he circles somewhere behind me, "what's the story here? Wardrobe malfu..."

Then he goes silent.

I've got my back turned, still holding up my dress. From where he's standing, he can probably now see exactly what type of malfunction I'm having.

"Zipper's stuck," I tell him, tilting my head over my shoulder.

He's still in the same spot, so I back towards him.

"Do you mind?" I ask, my cheeks coloring a little at the absurdity of it. "Just get that sucker up and we can get started."

The words float out, drifting like little clouds between us. Foolish, without thought, I see them forming shapes. Harmful ones, involving dirty deeds with our naked bodies.

Biting my lip, I keep from adding more to that, knowing it will just do more damage. Warmth from his fingers hovering at my back tells me he's listening, obeying. Quiet, for once, without any smart ass replies. Thank God.

I don't know exactly how much skin I'm showing, but I figure with how tightly I'm clutching the dress at my neck, I can't imagine it's much. If anything, all he sees is a hint of black lace, which isn't the end of the world.

He takes some time, working the zipper, his fingers fumbling at first gingerly. The longer it takes, the harder he has to work it, the closer he steps towards me. Soon, he's pressed against my back, leaning down. I can feel him breathing on the skin of my back, and his fingers are hot when they graze me.

"Zipper got caught," he says, sounding far too low and hoarse just then to be anything but dangerous. "On a part of your panties."

Gritting my teeth as the word 'panties' leaves his mouth in _that voice_ setting off a cascade of sinful flashbacks, I close my eyes, telling myself that no-the room isn't shrinking, the air isn't growing thick. And definitely, there's no tight warmth pooling low in my belly. I'm not slowly turning into a pit of molten lava just from exposure to this man.

Then a miracle happens-the zipper moves.

I gasp, but it doesn't sound anything like relief. Behind me, Mal breathes deeply, a lone knuckle sliding up my spine, as he pulls the zipper up.

"Got it," he says, softly, dulcet tones strained.

His other hand lands on my hip, as he takes a step nearer. I arch on instinct, my neck tilted to give him access, but in front of me, I fist my other hand, keeping it clenched in a show of resistance only I can see.

 _Don't do it don't do it..._

When the zipper reaches the hand I was using to keep my dress clasped, his fingers tangle with mine. His large thumb caresses the inside of my wrist, slides along my arm to my elbow. Mal sidles around me, far too near, aftershave and the scent of him teasing my senses, his breath hitting my hair, my ear, my cheek, and I find myself leaning into it, debating whether to close the few inches between our lips.

"It's up," comes the ragged little growl from his end.

No-no way, not a damn chance in hell-I don't look down, to read into that innuendo.

But before I can do or say anything other than flick my lashes up to meet that hungry gaze just a whisper away from mine-he grabs my hand and pulls me along.

"Let's go."

-x-O-x-

There's a car. Mal's _work thing_ involves a company car. I'm so taken aback it completely puts out of my mind the close encounter in my apartment. The entire ride I sit in the back of the darkened sedan, feeling strange because while unlike the movies there's no state of the art technology or a corner bar or even a privacy window between the front and back seats, there is an _actual_ chauffeur.

"Huh," is all I manage for the first few minutes of the ride.

Mal fills in the rest of the small talk, which I can barely register, as I wonder about his new employer in comparison to the law group that's practically become his home, back in Portland. The one that he's been loyal to for so long, that he never considered leaving, not even-according to Lu-when the family business seniors pushed for Mr. Parker to offer to put Mal on the company payroll, in return for handling all of their legal work.

Presently, the car pulls up in front of a hotel in midtown, where we're ushered into an enormous, two-storey conference room bedecked with Tiffany chandeliers, gold-gilded ceilings, and colossal windows framed with iron balconies on all sides.

It's a black tie affair and not only are most of the people mingling nowhere near my age, but I'm one of the few young and black females in attendance. In other words, I feel slightly out of my element and trying my best not to show it, as I encounter a series of strangers with quick eyes set in hardened faces. There's a veneer of friendly, but underneath it is all the sharp assessment that's not only a lawyer thing, but also a Manhattan thing. _Who-what-where from?_ get quickly taken care of, before I'm deemed passable to stand beside the newest member of their group.

Frazzling, but luckily for me and Mal both, I've done a little hobnobbing. Smaller scale, but still, the experience is there. As part of the chamber of commerce back at Mystic Falls, my dad took me along to business functions from the ripe age of thirteen. Without a wife, he realized early on that bubbly, polite me filled the role of family representative just as well.

After a glass of wine, and Mal's hand at my back the entire time, I settle into it. Never mind that it takes a good chunk of an hour, and who knew there were so many people all that interested-once they learn I'm a NYC public school teacher-in whether I found the new common core standards a travesty that flew in the face of our nation's educational progress? Damn lawyers and their burning need to push buttons even during innocuous social events.

After the second spirited debate on that, I stop biting my tongue.

"Ironing out wrinkles is a better solution than pretending they don't exist," I say to an older lady, whose accent tells me she's probably from one of the areas that's never adapted the standards. "Nationwide standards across the board is a step in the right direction, but if some states have a problem with it because their school districts are adept at practicing revisionist history, I'm not surprised they'd be against anything that involved oversight."

She's blinking furiously, a little slack-jawed.

"Texas, for example," I add, relishing my inner smug bitch when her face takes on a look of indignation. _Bingo._

Tossing back the rest of my drink, I smile and walk away.

"Ooooh." Mal's hand on my back stays warm and steady, as he squeezes me softly. "You're fun to take out."

I roll my eyes at him. "I don't think you're earning brownie points having me as your eye candy."

"Who cares?" he asks, side eyeing me. "I could watch you all night."

Words that spark Caro's comment earlier to memory-and now as I meet his gaze, I'm the one imagining Mal's teeth peeling off my dress. God.

We're halfway around the room ending a quick schmooze with yet another dry-witted veteran attorney, when we finally catch our first break.

"Where's the food?" I murmur.

He laughs, then guides us to our table. Soon enough, we're served our courses, and our dinner companions, thankfully, are even more eager than us to tuck into eating and leave the talking for after. As the meal wears on, speakers inevitably appear mid-way through. Not for fund-raising, but to celebrate organizational accomplishments for the year, which seems mostly to involve settling class-action and other large-scale litigation.

At some point in the evening, while I quietly sip my wine, I find Mal leaning close enough that my shoulder's resting against his chest. Reminding me of that night in Portland, when he shared his wish notes.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks, his nose brushing my hair.

"For a non-date non-event," I say, tilting my face to his, letting our breaths mingle close. "Sure."

I've seen too much of Mal lately; years ago, I'd memorized his face almost down to the tiny moles on his neck. Now, I can add a few of the new lines that time has wrought. Few and far between, but there anyway, to add character. He still looks like one of the youngest lawyers here in the room, but now I can't help thinking of the years we'd missed out on each other. What kind of worries had added those fine lines. I know most of them have to do, like always, with his family.

I'll miss him like crazy when he leaves.

The smile he gives crinkles his eyes at the corners. I'm close enough to count the wrinkles and see the hints of auburn and the stray gray in his beard along his jaw, lending ruggedness to the polished look he's sporting. In all, just a bit devastating to take in. I know I'm not the only one affected by it, judging by the way more than a few women's eyes have tracked him all damn night. Some of them bold enough to ignore the fact that he's brought a date. A few of them have brushed by him, as if on accident, sending him coy glances and loaded smiles of apology, trying to open up room for more interaction. I'm not sure if he notices the way I bristle, when that happens, but it'd be rude to claw anyone's eyes out here, so instead I just smile brightly at these encounters, to camouflage my gritted teeth.

Each time, though, I notice two things: the way his hand finds my hips and his fingers spread over the tops of my ass, as he pulls me closer to him, and the half-smile he tosses my way when he dismisses the women.

So maybe he does notice my reaction.

"Let's dance," I say abruptly, tugging him up and onto the floor.

We join the crowd on the dance floor right when the band's in the middle of an upbeat set. Mal's shaking his head, rueful grin in place, and at first I wonder if he even knows. I've never once seen him in action. But then he starts moving, easily, hips and shoulders in rhythm, and my stomach takes a tumble while outwardly, I'm laughing. This is way more than I expected, for a workaholic who supposedly had no time for such trivialities.

"You've been keeping secrets, Mal," I call out, while he's busy hamming it up, causing several heads to turn and watch us while we goof off. I spot Emma, waving hello across the floor, her ever present smile in place and that brown hair gleaming with brilliance under the light of the chandeliers.

I wave my own hand back in greeting, as the music segues into slower melodies, the band easing into smooth jazzy ballads while couples drift closer, into each other's arms.

Mal tugs me into his, a large hand gripping my waist tightly.

"Lots of secrets, B.B." he murmurs. "A few I don't mind clueing you in on. For example," he pulls me even closer, raking his eyes over my face intently. "I hate sharing."

"Not a secret. I knew that already."

"You. I hate sharing... _you._ "

-x-O-x-

Afterwards, the car takes us to midtown, parking in front of the Empire State. Mal's got this embarrassed look on his face, but also like a little boy who's got his hand caught in the candy jar, when he steps out and angles his head for me to do likewise.

"One quick stop," is all he says, before he takes me all the way to observation deck at the top.

As far as gestures go, it's kind of a big deal, but I don't know how to take it. Earlier this week, I'd mentioned having to skip this trip with my family, and I guess he took note. Or maybe he just really wanted to see it at night and I'm just along for the ride.

We're all alone, too.

But he's on the other end overlooking Lower East Side, while I look over Central Park. It's cold, but bright, and above our heads a wide panorama of black overhead, thin clouds barring the stars from view. So not exactly like _Sleepless in Seattle_ -

Until I hear his footsteps turn the corner, and feel his slow approach to where I'm standing.

"Ever done this before?" he asks, nothing meaningful in his voice at all, which is great. Puts me at ease enough to look over my shoulder.

His gaze is off to the side, looking out at the bridges.

"No, you?"

"Nope. It's corny."

I smile, secretly agreeing, and secretly thrilled he's being corny with me. But we stand there, just taking in the view without saying anything more, until the security guard starts hovering, to give us the hint that our time's up.

It's past midnight when the car takes us across the BQE, towards my apartment. The ride for the most part is quiet, Mal and I both staring out the window on opposite sides.

I don't want the night to end, but flounder for an excuse to extend it. And honestly, I'm hazy on what I want to happen if it keeps going. The night outside offers me no clarity, my mind as shadowy as the endless black beyond the window, broken only by the lit-up skyline of a city taunting me- _the fun's just started, don't you know?_

At one point, while our faces are still averted, I feel his fingers stroke mine, as our hands rest on the upholstery. The only thing I can do is hold my breath, while he tickles my skin, obliterating any sense of calm I'm going for. He's only touching my fingers, but try telling that to lower parts of me that are going limpid, hot, wanting their share of his attention.

Then I hear movement, his hand leaving mine, as he goes digging under the seat and pulls out a box, gift wrapped.

"Merry Christmas," he says, lips tipped up at the corner while I grin back, unwrapping it.

It's another sweater, to replace the one Joss originally made me. It'd gone through a few too many tears the one night I wore it, mostly because of Mal tugging and yanking on it in the closet and the storage shed. There's that wicked light in his eyes as he watches me, the gleam of laughter repressed while I bite my lip and shake my head.

He has no idea.

When the driver pulls up, I don't bother with any awkward moments. Given how much of them we usually have.

"Come upstairs?" I ask. "Your gift's still under the tree."

He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance as he tells the driver to go along without him. "I'll catch the train," Mal explains, when the driver gives a stone-faced nod. The line's probably more for my peace of mind, I'm guessing, to assuage any worries I might have that Mal's planning on overstaying the invitation.

Thoughtful of him, but I'm not worried. Mostly, I just want to see the look on his face when he sees his present.

I offer him a cup of coffee, the way he likes, before I pass him his box, while we're both seated on the floor by the tree.

Even before it's opened he's already laughing. The size and shape and weight of the thing is identical to what he gave me in the car. "Don't tell me..."

When he opens, it though, he sees not just the turkey sweater I ruined in my attempt to fix it, back during Thanksgiving, but an identical dress shirt to the one that was missing buttons, thanks to me ripping them off in the storage shed.

His hearty laughter fills the room and-oh, God, that spot in my chest, that I'd tried for so long to numb around him. Right now it's anything but. I can only stare, utterly defenseless to the thawing that's taking place, despite all my best efforts.

"Merry Christmas, Mal," I say, in quiet tones, losing the battle to an impulse.

Before I second guess it, I move to crouch on my knees, leaning in to kiss him, aiming for his cheek and trying to keep it simple. The scent of his aftershave fills me, his beard's tickling my lips, right before they land on his skin-when his head pulls back to angle towards me, and his eyes find mine, gleaming with warning.

"Don't," he says, the roughness in his tone unusual. "If you're gonna touch me, do it properly and don't tell me to leave after."

"I-" confused, I shake my head. "was just going for a thank you kiss?"

"Just say thank you, and leave it at that. Why do you have to kiss me?"

Now I bristle. "Why can't I?"

"What gives you the right?"

"Excuse me? You practically mauled me in front of your relatives. Sucked my mouth off. I can't offer a simple peck?"

"No, you can't, unless you're prepared to handle the consequences." His jaw turns to stone. "You've been testing me since the moment I arrived, B.B. I have limits, you know."

"How am I testing you?"

"Oh, I don't know, parading your lacy panties and bra and being all 'oh just get that sucker up!'" spoken in a high tone, to mimic my own, breathy and gaspy and completely not at all how I even sounded at the time. "Flirting with my colleague on the dance floor?"

"Who-whazzat now?" Then it hits me. "Emma? Oh, geeze, Mal. I waved to her from like twenty feet away. Are you serious? You're out of your mind."

Now his laugh sounds desperate, as his hands clench my arms. "I really am," he admits, gravel lacing his words. "So damn out of it, you have no idea. You're driving me insane. Have _been_ doing it for years. Do you even have any clue?"

He shakes me, enough to rattle my teeth a little until I have to clench them. When I grip his arms in return with enough force to dig my nails into his skin, he glares into my answering glower, pushing me back until my spine hits the couch. He leans over me, our bodies nearly sprawled on the floor now.

"I spell it out for you, in basic English that even a kindergartener can understand," he says, "and I won't even mention the sex-which, by the way," he stops, raising two hands to his head, blowing out a puff of breath in tandem with his hands opening out as if in explosion.

"Yeah, that's still mentioning it," I tell him dryly.

"Technically, no. It's a reference. A silent one. But let's face it, we both can have sex elsewhere. You have, pretty damn recently. So tell me, B.B. Why have you spent nearly all your free time with me these last couple weeks, instead of with Jessie?"

"Real mature. First Emma, now Jessie."

They're non-issues, but he's so stubborn.

"No, I'm just trying to get it right. Why are you here with me? Because _I_ came here, _just_ _for you_."

When I say nothing, he takes it as permission to get more in my face.

"The new firm? It's more corporate law. The private practice I'd like to open up one day in Portland? _Not_ that specialty. But I'll take it, for now, and wait around. For you. Quid pro quo, right? I made you wait, years."

"Mal-"

"All I want is to lose myself in you-but I can't. I can't fucking touch you," he adds hoarsely, his eyes wild and roaming my face, then my body, his hands reaching out at first before he clenches them into fists and pulls them back as he laughs again, "because you'll take it the wrong way and make it all about sex, then throw me out."

Now I see it-that crazed light in his eyes. I recognize it as familiar, not only because it answers my own, but it's something I've had glimpses of. All those moments when I caught this look on his face, why it always struck a chord. Because he'd shown me, over time and in tiny increments, rare flashes of this from years and years back. Only back then, I hadn't understood. That he was starting to be consumed by the very thing I'd already succumbed to ages ago.

"How does it feel, Mal?" I ask. "Having feelings for someone, afraid they're going to shit all over them. Welcome to the club."

My question is calm, mild. Even while he's looming over me I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he's getting to me, and all I really want is to lose myself in _him_.

Our faces are inches apart, but right now I think he'd rather choke me than kiss me; except, as seconds pass, his scowl eases, dissipates, turning his face as blank as mine.

"I get it," he finally replies, nodding a little to himself. "You think you're your dad, and I'm your mom."

"What?"

"We're not, B.B. I had to be an ass to you when you were younger. Sorry. Bad coping skills maybe, but at least better than the alternative if I'd given in."

How do I argue that? Whatever his faults, I know he's right. And I'm tired of holding on to this grudge. He hasn't been at his best, but neither have I. Our main problem in the first place was faulty timing, putting him on defense from the start. Would I let pride and fear and pettiness dictate where we go from here? A week and half of Mal's presence is enough to show that unlike Jessie or any of the men before, the lack of his company will hurt me pretty damn bad.

"You were right, B.B. About me and you, but I ran a little behind getting there, for good reason. So I object," and he lets out a half chuckle, half scoff that is one hundred percent aggravated. "I _really_ fucking object, to you throwing this away now."

The foundation of my resentment rests too precariously on my own hang-ups about my parents. Just like he said. In the span of a few weeks, he's figured it out, the cracks in my armor that's hobbled me for so long, carting that baggage around.

It's time to shed it.

"Sustained?" I try.

"How long do you think it'll take, hmm? For you to stop punishing me." Raking his hand through his hair, he next waves it around the apartment. "'Cause it'll be a few months before I can take more time off with my Portland firm so I kinda need a little notice to plan my next trip here and try again with you."

I hear my dad's words in my ear... _I'm going to give this a shot. It's all you can do for the people you love..._

And here I'd thought, for years, that Dad was just being a sucker, when really, it was more about courage. Him being brave. Could I be the same?

Mal's face scrunches in confusion, while he rewinds. "Back up. Did you say 'sustained?'"

I smile, nodding.

"B.B..."

"I am my Dad," I tell him, softly.

Mal takes it the wrong way, swallowing the obvious the disappointment down but still stubborn til the last. Just how I like.

"Lu warned me you don't let anyone in," he argues. "But I think I'm persistent enough-"

"Shhh," I say, reaching up to grasp his jaw, softening my touch into a stroke. I tug him down for a kiss, a real one, landing full on his mouth, my hands cupping his jaw, the hair there tickling my fingers.

His own mouth stays firm, not from anger, but doubt.

"I forgot to mention," I say, brushing my lips softly, back and forth, before I pull back and caress his cheek . "You have one more present."

He shuts his eyes for a second. "Don't make jokes now."

Mal's not the kind of person to bare all repeatedly and keep coming back to get kicked again. That he's saying he's willing to do that now, for me-maybe I'm easy to please, but it's what I needed to hear. I rise, slowly, rubbing myself against him, and when I stand, he's on his knees, looking up at me.

"B.B..." he says, his voice shaky as his hands reach up, squeezing my hips, moving up to encircle my waist.

I grab them, interlocking our fingers.

"Listen," I say thickly. "I have it on good authority that you bought me this dress just so you could take it off me."

He groans, burying his face against my abdomen, lowering his head to press a kiss against my pelvis, where I'm already over heated and desperate for his touch.

I pull on his hands, keeping our fingers laced. When he finally rises, I bite down on my lip to hide my smile, glancing up at his face through my lashes. He's there, ready to devour me and _I. can't. wait._

When I lead him to my room, he asks, huskily, "Do I get to unwrap you, Bonnie?"

And my answering laugh is wanton, just for him. "With your damn teeth, Malachai."

Which he does, on my bed, but he doesn't make me wait, tearing into ragged pieces my tiny lace underwear, that was the bane of our mutual existence hours earlier. Soon we're skin to skin, our names falling desperately from each other's lips, pent-up yearning finding the perfect friction, giving way finally to mutual release, sweet and hot and a long damn time coming.

-x-O-x-

When I wake, it's to the feel of someone warm and hard behind me, spooning me while my limbs lay tangled with another's, long and hairy. Disoriented, I almost push off, until arms tighten around my waist, and a deep voice in my ear grumbles in complaint.

"'Morning," Mal's rumble vibrates through my back.

 _Sweat pooled between our bodies, his length ramming deep inside, coaxing out my need..._

Lying in bed, I relive it, the entirety of the night, and the early hours of dawn when we'd rolled around the sheets tangling intimately again, repeating the night's activity, before drifting back to sleep.

I spare a thought that this doesn't feel awkward, despite being almost crushed against his chest. Strange, since awkward's always been our thing.

"Feel like breakfast?" he murmurs, sounding groggy.

We are totally nude but for sheets and I'm not looking to fix that right now. "Don't wanna," I mumble. "Let's stay in bed all day."

He laughs, trailing his lips along my shoulder until it ends with a playful nip against my neck. "Fine by me. But we break for food, deal?"

Seconds after he leaves the bed, I stretch out my body, relishing in the type of sore that feels sweet and flushes my cheeks. Then I fall asleep once more because Mal wrecked me in all types of wicked ways in the last couple of hours, and I need extra time to recover.

Shortly, the smell of breakfast in the air teases my eyes open, bacon and omelet wafting to my nose with delicious promise.

Stumbling to my feet, I wrap the sheets around me and find my way to the kitchen. It's a short walk, and it's a small kitchen, so Mal's bare back faces me, close, taunting, as he's hovering in front of the stove, transferring the bacon onto a platter. When he turns and finds me there, staring hard, the smirk on his face dies a little as we lock eyes first, then his travel slowly over my form encased in my thin, light sheet that's not exactly hiding much, especially since I'm letting it slide off in key places. Namely, my breasts.

I mean, look. We're both hungry. But he's at the stove, muscles calling to me, and as good as the food smells? I want the taste of him more. He reads my mind, has similar ideas. Because casually, he turns the dial off, covers the food, then strolls over and rips the sheets off my body. Hoisting me on to my dining table, he nestles his face between my legs, ready to go all over again.

When he laps his tongue in lazy strokes against my clit, I figure breakfast can wait a little longer, while he rubs his jaw along my inner thighs, his beard a delicious chafe on my sensitive skin. He slips his fingers inside to join his skillful mouth clamped along my folds, tipping me into madness.

Soon, I return the favor, right there against the kitchen wall. The sheets are now pooled around our feet, as I'm on my knees, lolling my tongue around his length while his hands wrap in my hair. He tugs my head back and forth in time with my sucking, his hips bucking more frenzied the harder I tease, one hand wrapped around his base, squeezing in tandem with the bobbing of my head. The taste of him whips me into new arousal, so I slip a finger inside me, glancing up when he growls.

He doesn't come in my mouth; yanking me up, he bends me over the table, my breasts crashing against the wood as he plunges manically inside me, burying himself deeper and rougher than all the other times. My nails almost break, clutching the table, and I don't know where this is all coming from but soon I'm screaming into my climax while he grunts himself hoarse, hitting me raw as he throbs into my walls, all the way to the hilt.

"I'm on the pill," I remind him in a gasp, moments later.

He's breathing heavy, hands still tangled in my hair. "I know. But damn, B.B..."

Yeah, I get it. Sometimes it shakes me, too, how we lose control. He pebbles kisses along my back and shoulder, before he carries me to the shower.

Later, after we've cleaned ourselves, and I'm back in bed feeling drowsy all over again, he walks into the bedroom carrying trays filled with hot breakfast for both of us. To be safe, I make him eat well on the other side of the bed away from me, but our feet tangle together, while we inhale the food.

And it's so damn good.

"Wow, we'll definitely do more breaks for food, if you keep this up."

"Well, I did mention I'm a champ with breakfast, back when I talked to you on your birthday."

I'm reminded of that, my hangover, and Mal's call from out of nowhere. "Did you really mean to call my dad that morning?"

He throws me another smirk. "Good excuse, yeah?"

A secret thrill rushes over me that I hide, although I can't help my lips breaking into a smile.

"There's more," he says.

The heat of his gaze moves from my lips to my eyes, then back and forth again, while he removes something from behind him, offering me a long black velvet jewelry case.

"Mal..." I sit back, unsure because this I'm not ready for. I don't need him to ply me with expensive gifts.

"Relax," he tells me lightly. "No diamonds, no rings. Just a belated graduation gift. Your real one."

My _real_ one? I have to laugh now.

"I hate to tell you, but I'm pretty fond of the fake one you gave me. That blender kicks ass."

His mouth purses, just a little; I know it's more from nerves than actual irritation. It's cute, how nervous he is.

"Just open it."

When I do, what I find is a charm bracelet on a delicate gold chain, with five little pieces dangling off-what looks like four busts and one miniature globe. I peer closer, making out the profiles.

Mal points to each. "Genghis Khan, Nefertiti, Joan of Arc, and-"

"Attila the Hun," I finish, delighted, sitting back and beaming down as I pore over the bracelet, fascinated by the detail in their expressions. The craftsmanship is meticulous, for being such tiny pieces.

"Hard to find something for a history major, ya know? But then I figured, what better way to celebrate getting ready to take on the world, than with a bracelet peppered with people who conquered it? And I, uh, threw Attila in because-"

"I once compared you to him?"

The answering tilt of his lips in one corner tells me I'm not wrong. "His empire dwarfed Alexander the Great's, but I'm sure you already knew that, being a hotshot teacher and all."

"Of course," I lie, scoffing, before I return to tracing the delicate chain. Then I add, in softer tones, "Thank you, Mal."

Silently, he signals for me to hand the bracelet over back to him, to let him clasp it around my wrist. When he's done, he keeps his fingers lightly around my skin, rubbing gently, as he leans in to kiss me, feather light strokes just grazing my lips.

"Better than the blender?" he asks.

I glance at him from beneath my lashes, pinching an index finger and thumb close enough to almost touch. There's a chance I might never take it off, but I keep that to myself.

"By a smidge," I reply, right before I pounce on him, tipping over our trays.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for the feedback once again, guys! Ch 17 and an Epilogue to go. Working on a Kaleidoscope one-shot now for the A/U with Esther, Mama Parker, and Grams. Somehow it turned into a Klonnie/Bonkai thing lol...will try to get that out shortly. Once Tis the Season is done updates might get slower, though. Back to the grind at work.

Hope you enjoyed the belated Christmas chapter. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Next chapter's the last one, guys. Whew. To everyone who mentioned a meet-up with Charade BK-sorry, but no, I had something else in mind. ;) Enjoy!

 **Chapter XVII**

 _Summer came and went and nothing. The long, sweltering days bled one into the other. I spent most of them on edge, people at the office turning the other way anytime I approach; various members of my family calling less and less to invite me to a shindig, or when I did show up, quick to point me to a corner so I can stew in peace._

 _Who knew what the fuck was up with me? If I was a woman, they'd have pointed to early menopause. Men earned no such excuse, especially since I was still mid-thirties and as healthy as they came._

 _Only mentally, I was a little unsteady._

 _On a rare day to myself, I found my time eaten up at my parents' house. Yard work, among other things. Dad was a firm believer in doing things himself instead of hiring out, but he'd reached the point where it exhausted him too much. My mom called one afternoon, asking for help because he'd lost control of the pressure washer, and damaged some of the siding on their house._

 _I was outside, hammering in the new siding when a familiar car rolled up to the driveway._

 _And suddenly, the tightening in my gut expanded, grew loose. Uncoiled. Technically, end of August still meant dog days of summer. A teacher could've still found time for a short break-_

 _Sheila stepped out._

 _Alone._

 _The disappointment jarred me, enough I had to clench my teeth against it, hide it behind a friendly smile as I nodded towards the woman that I practically could've called grandmother._

 _"Isn't it your one day off?" she said, pursing her mouth in disapproval. "I'm going to need to talk with your parents."_

 _I shrugged. "Better this than killing my eyesight with stacks of small-font court orders."_

 _She slowed, her sharp eyes zeroing in on my face. I hadn't shaved, or slept much the night before._

 _"A person can overdo things, Mal."_

 _What could I say to that? I was pretty sure it wasn't even work bugging me. If anything, work was my haven. Without it, I felt-adrift._

 _"How have you been? Haven't seen much of you lately."_

 _Sometimes, I hate talking to Sheila, mostly for that sense of my brain being peeled off in layers, like a sad decaying onion._

 _"You and B.B. both," she said now, ending on a sigh. "Peas in a pod. Why are you two so bent on working yourselves to death?"_

 _It's an opening, one I lunge for. Pathetically obvious, but who cared?_

 _"Is that why..." I cleared my throat, resting my tools on the ground, before I bent back up, walking with Sheila now towards the garage door entrance inside my parents house. "When I talked to B.B. she mentioned visiting around this time. Guess she's busy, then?"_

 _"You talked to her?" Sheila sounded surprised. "She never mentioned."_

 _Waves of hurt pummeled me. From where, who knew. And why, I was even more resistant to explore._

 _"A few months ago. Just to congratulate her." Then I smiled, tight. "With honors, huh? But that's no surprise, is it?"_

 _She paused, keeping us both waiting by the front door. I heard my mom's voice approaching, as she called for Sheila to join her._

 _"B.B. probably can't make it for a visit, Mal," Sheila said, definitely sounds of sympathy in her voice that had me looking sharply away from her too-knowing eyes._

 _"I figured," is my casual reply. "Between Lu and her, they've got a full plate. Crazy kids."_

 _Sheila patted my shoulder, her smile encouraging. "I don't know about crazy, but I'm guessing on my granddaughter's part, too much work turns a little lonely. You'd know the feeling, wouldn't you?"_

 _Yep, definitely a damn onion. There went layers, spliced up like nothing._

 _"Don't be afraid to check in with her from time to time, Mal. She loves hearing a friendly voice from home."_

-x-O-x-

For the next few days, we go out. And for the first time in our history, we're like those normal boring couples in the honeymoon phase of the mating dance. Dinner and a movie, bars, bowling. I even take her to a ping pong spot that I got acquainted with years ago. In turn, she introduces me to her off-the-beaten path attractions, the ones that don't get as many tourists as the others: the building with a scale model of the scale model atop the entrance; the aerial tramway to Roosevelt Island, where she takes me to the park with FDR's stone head, and near which B.B. unpacks the tiny basket she brought along for a winter picnic, on a bench overlooking the East River.

Away from the hustle and bustle, I soak up the atmosphere, placing the basket on the floor so there's nothing between us on the bench when I slide her towards me, hauling her into my arms.

She glances at my lips, but there's that pucker between her brows that tells me she needs to get something off her chest.

"This island used to be sanctuary for smallpox and mental patients," she breathes, before tilting her head behind us. "That way's the remains of the smallpox hospital."

 _Not_ what I expected her to say. But I should know better, from a history buff.

"You really know how to set the mood," I reply back, repressing the urge to grin when she smacks me.

She never seems to run out of places: the next day at Grand Central, she leads us to stand at opposite corners of the vaulted archways.

Natives and tourists alike pass us by, as we both face the bricks. Lucky thing I don't give a shit what people think. In the middle of ignoring the third person eyeing us oddly, I suddenly hear B.B.'s voice through the wall in front of my nose. Never mind that she's at least twenty feet away.

 _"I'm too sexy for my shirt,_ " comes her off-key notes, through the brick. _"Too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts."_

My own laugh echoes over to her, she tells me later, her smile giddy when she notices how long I'm chuckling over that. There's apparently a lot of little things that escaped me during my years out here, as a consequence of burying myself in work. The Whispering Gallery, she tells me on our way home. I can't help imagining how many other men might've earned her whispers through the brick, but get past it quickly. I should count myself lucky, the right woman's been under my nose to introduce me to so many things I've missed.

B.B. is fantastic company, like I always knew-but now with the added bonus of being able to indulge in touching her, claiming her. It's around strangers, sure, but at this point I can at least rest easy knowing that her intimate smiles, the teasing graze of her hands, are all reserved for me. It's a good kind of drug, and I take my hits where I can, rushing through my days at the Manhattan office in record time to get back to her.

One night, I find _The Shining_ playing at a dine-in movie theater near her place in Brooklyn. The last time I'd seen it was years back, when Lu was still finishing his junior year in high school and entering his film snob phase. He'd finagled a way to screen it on a film projector, in our parents' basement, setting up bean chairs and trying to evoke the creepy atmosphere, recruiting myself, a few of our siblings, and B.B. along for the viewing. And I remembered sitting there, on one of the bean chairs, half-watching the movie while another half from the corner of my eye kept looking at B.B.'s reactions to the scares. Knowing full well, at the time, that she was doing the same with me.

So I take her to the theatre now, both of us with mischief in our faces when we pick the seats furthest back, where we end up being the only ones in the row. Soon after our dinners are served, we've got our trays pushed to the side because she's on my lap. Covertly, we grind away at each other, fully clothed, in between looking out for the good scenes. When Jack destroys the bathroom door to peek in maniacally, I've got my hand down her bra, her quiet moans drowned out by the movie score.

On another night, after I've taken her to dinner and we're walking idly through Central Park, she convinces me to ice skate at the rink there, where she and I both manage not to fall on our asses in front of a crowd of tourists. B.B. herself moves slowly but a little more surely, holding my hands to keep me steady. It's corny, nothing I'd have done on my own, but when we chanced upon the crowd here, some rare whim spurred me to try. I want to make the most of the remaining days with her, and if that means letting her guide me around on what amounts to murder weapons encased on the bottom of my feet-so be it.

A guy who keeps running into B.B.-repeatedly-catches my attention, not in the best way.

"Here's hoping nobody irks me here tonight," I say cheerfully, loud enough as he laughs off the latest collision with her, and starts fumbling away. "Because I'll happily cut a throat."

She smacks my arm. The guy doesn't appear again for the remainder of our time on the rink.

Later in the shower of my hotel room, while I've got her pressed against the wall pulsing around my erection, I take in the water trickling over her face, her wet curls trailing over smooth, brown skin, those green eyes cloudy with pleasure and contentment.

How the fuck I'm supposed to leave her behind-I have no idea. But it'll happen, eventually, because my time in Manhattan with the orientation is finite.

The upside is, what I suspected about her when it comes to us is correct. B.B.'s insatiable, as much an animal as I am when we're together. I can't get enough of her. Lucky thing she seems to feel the same about me.

"Last one for the day," she pants as we roll onto our backs, on the living room floor this time.

The tree she's left up to end the year is tipped over from our overeager rutting, now perching precariously against the window.

"Okay," I agree, lying through my teeth.

Now that I've finally convinced her what lies between us is beyond just sex-naturally, it's pretty much all we do, with me counting down until the moments when she's back in my arms, atop and beneath and next to me, anywhere we can squeeze ourselves into. A few days ago, after playing tour guide with each other, showing off our favorite haunts in the city, we were at Penn Station, finding ourselves alone in an elevator just before rush hour.

We made the most of two minutes, in that tiny little boxcar, just seconds before the afternoon crowd converged onto the terminal.

"Mal," she urges when I palm her breasts leisurely, nuzzling her neck. "I'm serious. My family's coming. I have to get the food ready. Bad enough I pleaded sick and skipped Christmas dinner with them-"

"You regret it?" I ask, voice husky.

I've never had a better Christmas, than spending it all day with B.B. here in this apartment.

She shakes her head, biting back a grin.

"No way, but I can't screw up this dinner."

"You won't. If you'd let me help you-"

"I think you mean, let you take over."

"I'm not that bad...try me."

My voice is muffled against her skin, the feel and scent of her intoxicating. I can't remember a time when I was like this with anyone; the thought of her being this way with other men spurs howling somewhere in my brain, of some kind of caged monster I'm not aware I ever hosted. But it's there.

I don't want to leave her. Here in New York, alone. Not because I don't trust her, but so many things can go wrong.

"You can't be here when they come," she whispers, her fingers lacing through my hair.

I freeze at her words, but she laughs softly. "Show up after they get here, dummy. Knock on the door. My parents know you're in town, they just don't know-"

"I'm in _you_?"

Her moan is part frustration at my words, part pleasure from me tonguing her nipple and trailing my knuckles along her ribs and hips, before I cup her ass and grind her against me. I'm spent now, but she's ready again, so my fingers graze past her slit, into moist folds calling for attention.

"Not again," she whimpers, but then she's returning my open-mouthed kiss eagerly, pushing my head back down to her breasts while her hips rotate lewdly into my hand.

"I'll never get tired," I growl softly, nipping the soft swell just beneath her nipples, scraping my bearded jaw along the skin there because I know she likes that, "of seeing you fall over the edge, B.B."

A third finger enters her, adding to the frenzied wetness. Soon her walls are clenching in rhythm, her mouth dropping open into a moan, and sharp nails dig into my shoulder. Heavy-lidded, bright eyes stare up at mine with hazy reproach.

"That salmon," her voice is shaky, riding out her latest orgasm, as I keep pumping her, slowly. "Isn't going to cook itself, Mal."

"It's an easy recipe," I tell her raggedly, cupping my own twitching dick, but she smacks my hand away, even though I can see her eyeing my semi-erection for long seconds. "I can do it with my eyes closed. So can you."

The little mewl she lets out falls into my ear, her eyes fluttering closed as I finally slide out, then lick my fingers off. For a moment, I rest my head on her chest, listening to our breathing even out, relishing in this moment where I still have her all to myself. It won't last much longer, but right now I can do this. Tease her skin, and all that golden silkiness taunting me.

"I think it's been defrosting long enough." Then, almost begrudgingly, she flicks her gaze away from my pelvis, moving away from me to go take another shower. "How long can fish be out, anyway?"

"You're adorable when you worry about cooking," I call, then slump back on the floor, trying not to imagine water trickling down her naked curves.

-x-O-x-

Yeah, B.B. is sort of a nightmare in the kitchen. Not that she's bad at it, per se, but there's a lot of spillage, maybe inordinate amounts of sarcasm, and also the occasional flat-out refusal to take directions.

I tell her to use fresh onion and garlic, and she tells me the stuff in her crisper's too old. I'm not one to waste anything, willing to look past expiration dates and mushy fruit and vegetables, but B.B. apparently sits on the other end of the spectrum. I myself had restocked her crisper the day after Christmas, when I made her dinner. That's less than a week ago, but it's too long for her. She tosses it out and uses seasoning instead. And secretly, I think she mostly did it for the convenience.

Meanwhile, the half cup of teriyaki glaze somehow ends up on her shirt instead of on the salmon. But what's she blame that on? Me. Though all I'm doing is leaning against the counter, munching on a bag of pork rinds and letting her go to town on her New Year's Eve dinner.

"Out," she huffs, pushing me out of the kitchen. "You ruin my focus. Go dawdle somewhere else."

Keep in mind, in this tiny space the kitchen is practically on top of the living room, which means I need to disappear inside the bedroom. Where there's no television. Or much of anything except a bed and a bookshelf, littered with history books and biographies and the occasional horror and true crime titles. I'm not all that surprised we like a few of the same things. And over the course of a week where I've spent fewer days on orientation in the Manhattan HQ of my new firm, and most of my time with B.B. at her place, I've already skimmed through a few of the selections.

But right now I don't want a book. All I can really do in the bedroom is stare longingly at the bed, wishing for a dinner cancellation that leads to B.B. finding her way back under the covers with me, so we can bury ourselves in each other once more.

"Careful not to overdo the potatoes," I toss over my shoulder. "You want 'em crispy, not black!"

But judging by the smell of burnt in the air, too late.

I get it, though. It's her first time making a holiday meal for her new-old family. I could help and make life easier, but that's not the B.B. way. Yet I trip back out into the kitchen anyway, risking her wrath and feeling like a jerk not helping. When she tosses me warning scowls, I give them back in kind.

"Let me help," I mutter, scraping the black edges off the potatoes and making sure the string beans don't follow suit in their sauté pan.

Halfway through, she picks up on my method, and then we fall into a rhythm. Cooking's something I enjoy; always have, since the time as a teen my dad showed me how to deep fry wings and French fries. Progressively, his recipes turned more complicated, and I kept up.

B.B. knows this, over the years has been a fan of my culinary skills but also, now, seems largely intimidated. Which is cute, but also, makes me eager. I see a chance here.

"Remind me," I say glibly. "Before I leave, to give you a private cooking lesson."

She snorts. "You're so full of yourself."

"I'll wear an apron."

"Ooh," she deadpans. "Color me excited."

I smirk, brushing by her to grab the pot holder. "Nothing _but_ an apron, B.B."

Normally, objectifying myself's not one of my M.O.s when I'm around women. Granted, I'm aware of the effect I have on them but for the most part it's a peripheral detail that usually gets lost in the shuffle.

With B.B. though-I'm pretty fond of encouraging her to ogle me. She does such a good job with her normal disdain for such things, it's just fun to throw her off. Especially now, knowing that I can get to her this way.

My comment settles; her eyes go hazy, roaming my form quickly. When I see her swallow thickly, I chuckle.

Soon, the oven dings, letting us know the salmon's ready. That one she handles, including dressing it with lemon and sprigs of parsley. I get the side dishes onto the table to frame the salmon. It comes across as decent enough, though I won't mention that there's a look of extra crispy along the sides of the salmon, and the potatoes are still ringed in black.

"They'll be here soon," she says, running around doing last minute cleaning. "You have to go."

Do I? My eyes get stuck on following her around the room.

I know she's trying to play it safe, but I don't know if I can hide-anything.

"They'll see right through it," I begin.

"Mal," she hisses. "Go. Hide somewhere for ten minutes. They'll be here before then."

"Maybe you shouldn't have skipped Christmas dinner," I mutter. "This all could've been out in the open."

She scoffs, skeptical. "Please. You're a pro at this."

Not again. "By 'this,' you mean?..."

"Brushing me off," she says lightly. But I can tell she's not actually trying to pick a fight, just trying to convince me. It's that lingering mulishness of hers, that I suspect will take a long time battling to get her to see what she really means to me.

I have to shake my head. "As hard as that was on you, B.B. It's not like I enjoyed doing that. No need to regress, either." I think back to those moments, turning my back on her, walking away, belittling her. "Can't we just...give it a rest? Let's enjoy each other. Who cares about our families?"

"I can't believe that came out of your mouth, Mal. You're the one who walked away, even years after I was legal. Don't pretend it's this sacrifice, playing it off like I'm the same obsessed kid that you never gave a shit-"

I haul her against the fridge, so fast she closes her mouth, blinking dazed.

"I always gave a shit, just not in the same way I do now." I find her lips, my tongue mating with hers, familiar and frenzied and right, before I tear myself off. "I didn't stay for your graduation because you deserved time on your own. To figure things out. I'm not such a bastard that I couldn't wait a little longer. Sucked, but it was worth it. And now?" My laugh comes off angry. "There's no fucking way I can play off anything now, because you're here-" I grab her hand, pressing her fingers tightly against my temple. "And here-" I move her fingers to my chest. "And definitely here." Then to my pelvis, where, oddly, she doesn't try to move away from.

B.B. doesn't breathe as our keen gazes lock. I have no idea what's running through her mind, but in the next instant-none of it matters, because she's on tiptoe and kissing me, hesitantly at first until my hands land on the wall on either side of her head, effectively trapping and crushing her against me. Then she opens her mouth, letting me swallow her gasp, her one hand that was on my groin now cupping me urgently.

Dimly, there's a sound. I hear it, but from so far away that who cares? Meanwhile, I keep stroking B.B.'s warm tongue with mine.

The sound grows louder.

Finally, it registers. The crash. A dish breaking. The muffled scream.

Then-

"What the _hell_ is going on here?!"

The loud roar of an enraged papa bear.

B.B. and I break apart, turning. By the door stands Sheila, her key still poised inside the front door lock. Behind her, B.B.'s parents- _Rudy,_ her father, breathing smoke out of his ears and nose-and another boy, and then, to my utter surprise, my own parents, Lu, and Livvie.

And Livvie, of course? Well, in the resounding quiet where I'm rationalizing that Rudy Hopkins won't risk felony charges and life in prison just because his daughter's tonsils were nearly merged with mine mere seconds ago-Livvie, my old pal, my precocious, little brat of a sister decides it's the best moment to roll her eyes, drop her bag on the floor and plop on the sofa, throwing casually over her shoulder:

"Hey, at least they weren't doing it in the coat closet."

-x-O-x-

The "dinner" feels more like a firing squad. Even though Jamie, Lu and Livvie have conveniently remembered there aren't enough drinks and are out on a run, there's still everyone else. Grams is somewhere in the kitchen, the smell of newly brewed tea in the air doing nothing to alleviate my anxiety. Since my mom and Mrs. Parker are seated on one side of the dining table, shoulder to shoulder and faces inscrutable, with me on the other offering up nervous lip-biting. And my dad's pacing up a storm in the living room, with Mr. Parker leaning against the wall behind him looking grave. While Mal...

He's perched on the couch, elbows on his knees as he leans forward, staring up with a calm, bemused smile on his face. If we're taking odds, I'd lay them on him entertaining thoughts of telling everyone to take a hike right now, so he and I can enjoy our night in peace.

"All this time, her visiting Portland...how long has _this_ has been going on?" demands my dad, of the room in general, seems like.

"Since Thanksgiving," Mal answers mildly.

"You expect me to believe that?" Dad rants. "No wonder B.B. doesn't like coming back to Mystic Falls for most of her breaks. Not when there's you over there, scheming to-"

"I'd be very careful, Rudy," Mal cuts in, in the lightest of tones. "What you say next. Hate to throw out terms like slander, but-hey, if the shoe fits."

My dad stops, pins him with an iceberg glare that I've witnessed before, wilting plenty of other grown men.

"No scheming here," Mal adds. "On anyone's part. Ask B.B. yourself. And have a little respect for your own daughter."

Now that raises my mom's hackles, when she stands to go support my dad. "Exactly why this concerns us," she says stiffly. "If you were closer to her age, it wouldn't be the same, but you're almost twenty years older!"

Mrs. Parker sniffs just then. "He gets carded all the time," she mutters. "Barely looks a day past thirty."

"Maddie, hush," Mr. Parker says, but while standing behind my dad's back, he throws Mal a small, encouraging nod, to show he's in total support of his wife's inane comment.

Which does nothing much to further the conversation but I could hug them right now, for not adding to the drama.

"With all respect, Abigail," Mal replies evenly, glancing at me, holding my gaze for long moments. "Difficult as it is for both of you to comprehend since you haven't exactly been all that attentive to her, B.B. grew up a long time ago."

"Spoken like a predator," my dad seethes.

Mrs. Parker's throat lets out this sound of dismay; Mr. Parker's face turns red, suddenly appearing a lot more intimidating than mere moments ago. I don't blame them-hell, I'm on my feet myself, fury guiding my actions when I storm over to the living room, standing between Mal and my father.

"Take it back," I tell him curtly. "Or leave."

But my dad's too blinded by his anger to hear me properly.

"Name calling, dad?" I scoff. "Who's mature again?" Then I point to the table, where the food has cooled down. "I made dinner. It's probably a little burned, despite Mal's best efforts to help otherwise. But he didn't once take over. Know why? Because he's learned-" here I pause, sliding a glance over to him, knowing it turns warm when he meets it. "To trust me to figure it out for myself."

Although maybe not dinner, but I don't add that as I square off with my parents, shooting fierce death glares in both their directions.

I can't get over the hypocrisy.

"And can I add?" I continue. "When it comes to problematic relationships, _you two_ take the cake. But do I stick my nose in it? Even though I should-have _every_ right to rant against both of you? No! You want to go for take two, try for happy family with Jamie in that big house that I grew up in pretty much with just myself and my imaginary friends for _years_? Go right ahead! I know better than to go digging into that mess. And I don't even resent you for it..." then I squint, thinking better, "...not too much."

Mal's hands find my shoulders, resting there comfortingly, possessive as he stands behind me. My parents show obvious signs of having deflated now, sad and limp before my wrath. Which I'm not trying to encourage. But my hands are a little shaky, when I point to my dad.

 _"Take it back."_

Dad and mom exchange glances; right now I need to know I can maintain some semblance of a normal relationship with them. They've already got so much stacked against their favor. If they can't support me and Mal, it's not even a contest, which side of the fence I'll fall on.

I find Mal's hand, and he laces our fingers together, his grip solid, letting me know he won't let go.

Dad sighs, nodding over to Mal, having the grace to look embarrassed. "I apologize."

The moment Mal moves closer to him, the entire room tenses. He hasn't shown much of a reaction to my dad's insult moments ago, but I know the age gap is something that weighs on his mind every once in a while. He's mentioned as much himself, those times I've picked his brain to play back moments in our history where I misread him. Now I cringe when I think back to my own comments during Thanksgiving, when I was still playing defense and taunting him about Medicare and arthritis.

"Mal," I start, but he only holds up a hand to stall me, before facing my dad squarely.

"For what it's worth, Rudy," he says. "I'm not in the middle of a mid-life crisis. There's no fancy shiny coupe to go along with my new young girlfriend. Unless you know, B.B. decides to get one for herself and lets me sit in the passenger seat."

When his gaze finds mine, I see a lot more than just his need to convince my dad. Mal hasn't been hiding much from me the last few days or even weeks, while I buried my head up my ass in my stupid denial dance. But now-right here, in front of everyone-what's pouring out of his eyes floors me. Hard. Not the most romantic comparison, but I...feel like road kill, beneath his mack truck.

"Not that it's anyone's business," Mal says lightly. "But I don't see things changing between the two of us anytime soon. Also, I'm not much for letting other people sabotage a good thing. So, hmm." He gives me a sheepish smile before he turns a measured glare on my parents. "I guess what I'm trying to say is: get over it."

Now my parents are like me, flattened on this bizarre highway. Bennett roadkills, all of us.

"I don't think," Mom finally replies, a keener light in her eyes as she looks between me and Mal. "B.B. even brought anyone home after high school. This just-shook us."

"Especially," my dad adds, his tone a little more tempered, but that tiny hint of murder still there in the back of his gaze. "With what we walked in on. Now, I know my daughter's a grown woman. B.B.'s always been mature for her age. But..." he sighs deeply, rubbing his face. Now I see surrender in his movements, begrudging, but I can tell he's willing to try. Thank God. "Just...ease us into it."

Mal just shrugs. "Okay," he says, then nudges my shoulder. "Maybe tone down on the PDA, snookums."

Which, naturally, draws glares from my parents _and_ me.

"Don't push it, you idiot," I warn.

He only smirks.

Grams chooses that moment to walk out of the kitchen, her restful smile on us like the sun breaking through a storm. "Well, the tea's ready, I've set the plates and re-warmed the food. Now, let's enjoy this homecooked meal B.B. whipped up for us. Before," she adds with a raised brow, letting caution glide over her features, "I get a hankering to knock people's heads together."

-x-O-x-

We're all squeezed into the table, even Lu, Livvie, and Jamie, who arrive with enough drinks to serve a battalion. Soon, the entire table turns quiet as the sides are passed back and forth, and the salmon gets served out. There's little in the way of sounds except for utensils intermittently clanging. Lots of thoughtful chewing, intent faces bent over their plates.

The atmosphere is still uncomfortable, but I let my taste buds do my thinking, because truthfully it's a different kind of tension, I now realize.

Seconds later, I'm washing down overcooked fish with some wine when my gaze lands on Lu, who looks slightly nauseous. Livvie, her nose scrunched up in distaste.

There are still a ton of green beans and potatoes left in their dishes.

I glance at Mal.

He bites down on his mouth and then looks away quickly, concentrating on his own glass of nearly drained wine as if it might refill itself.

My Grams, as always, looks like royalty. Serene and not any type of give in her expression as she keeps chewing. My parents both gamely smile at me. Jamie's busy on his phone, but when he catches me looking, takes a big heaping spoonful of food, then smiles a little painfully.

Mr. and Mrs. Parker-bless their souls-have actually finished half their plate. The most of everyone at the table, except for Mal, whose own plate is empty. But only because I personally know that he's willing to try anything, and seems singularly capable of finishing whatever he serves himself. Add human trash compactor to his many talents.

"Right," I say, tucking my tongue inside my cheek. "This is awful."

"No..."

"What're you talking about? _So_ good."

"You've outdone yourself, sweetie..."

"Yeah, no. It's bad. Really bad. Makes my cooking look good. Never thought that'd be possible."

That last bit from Livvie, which I can appreciate the honesty. So I glare at everyone else, toss my napkin down, then rise. "There's this Chinese joint a couple blocks over. They serve dim sum, they're open past midnight, and..." here I toss Grams and Mrs. Parker a smile. "Their billiards room has a Mah-jongg table."

There's a stampede to my front door.

-x-O-x-

Hours later, we're stuffed and enjoying having the restaurant all to ourselves pretty much at _Mr. Li's Dragon & Phoenix_ restaurant. Festive Chinese lanterns line the ceiling overhead, and along the walls are shelves of Terra Cotta warriors interspersed with calligraphy and oils of Peking opera characters. No New Year's party hats or blowers here, but we don't need it to feel the bubble of excitement, witnessing the year close out in yet another of my hole-in-the-wall eateries. One of the few that serves good food without hurting my wallet too much.

Here, there's no issue with emptying plates. There's also, tonight, a sense of being way more relaxed than usual. The hostess and the waiter seem happy with us, so long as we keep ordering. We've worked backwards, finishing our main course first but then as the night wears on, ordering appetizers, in between making use of the tiny game room and then heading back to our seats to eat. Earlier, other customers trickled in and out, but now as we head towards midnight, it's just us. Mr. Li himself has come out, sometimes joining in the discussion, letting the few employees on shift tonight relax.

The hostess has put her feet up in the back of the room, while the waiter's joined Lu, Livvie, and Jamie by the pool table, all of them sharing the drinks they bought earlier that they smuggled inside the restaurant.

Grams, my mom, and Mrs. P. have been playing Mah-jongg for the last hour. My dad and Mr. P. are running commentary on the New Year's Eve show on the flat screen. Apparently, they've got a lot to say about the music, and the wardrobes, and Ryan Seacrest.

Mal and I had joined in the pool game earlier, but after bending a few too many times in front of him to take my shots, I'd gotten pulled away. Dragged towards the back of the restaurant behind the aquarium, where Mal talked me into a round of groping and necking, our faces shoved together urgently because it'd been hours since our last coupling.

Nobody's mentioned resolutions, but now as we're both back at the table, my dad and Mr. Parker chatting together across from us-I know I need to come up with a few.

Such as:

 **1\. Spend more time with my family and friends.**

 **2\. Work on my cooking.**

 **3\. Quit giving in to Mal.**

 **4\. When giving in to him, especially in a public place, work on my neutral face.**

That last part, I need to start early. Because while seated, our lower bodies hidden by the table, Mal's doing terrible things for my sanity.

Just then, Mrs. Parker and my mom wander over to join.

"Josh, let's cultivate more herbs in the garden," Mrs. Parker says. "Abigail's made a list for us. She's got ginger, basil, and kudzu in hers. All things you can use."

My dad, surprisingly, is nodding in agreement. "Basil's really mellowed me out. Especially at work. Try it."

Mr. Parker rubs his chin in thought. "I might. Not for me, but if I can ground it into fine powder, I can slip it inside my sister's drinks. That woman-" he stops, and both and Mrs. Parker shudder. " _Really_ could do with stress relief. Or possibly, a lobotomy."

Setting off a discussion among the parents on various ailments and difficult people that I just can't pay attention to, since Mal's fingers are inching higher on my thigh, under my dress. Tracing little patterns that sear my skin and turn my vision spotty. Nothing I do sways him, not squeezing my legs to keep him out-he only rubs me harder, his touch possessive. Not me pinching his side-he just smirks back. Not hissing his name in warning, low so nobody else can hear-whenever I do that, his gray eyes turn dark, eaten up by enlarged pupils.

We can't last long with this.

"...moving truck on Thursday, if you can spare the time, Mal."

His hand drifts deeper between my thighs, and when I part them despite my better judgment, I catch his lip bite, the puckered frown between his brows as he leans towards me, and his breathing slows.

"Mal?"

We're sluggish, both of us, when we look up and see everyone staring in question.

Mal clears his throat, but keeps his hand in place. "What's that?" he asks, his voice so damn deep I can't help squirming again, when I sit up, trapping his hand.

He shoots me a warning glare. Oh, right. As if this is my fault.

"Lu," Mr. Parker repeats. "Moving everything. Think you can give us a hand on Thursday?"

It's why they Parkers are in town, impromptu, helping Lu tie up loose ends in New York, before he permanently settles down in Portland. At least that's what they said. Maybe they also were just checking in on Mal.

"Sure," Mal says, then I feel his hand start up again. Damn him.

"Shame we need to break the lease," Mr. Parker continues.

My dad, Mr. Frugal, lets out this sound of commiseration. "When's it run out?"

"Late summer. Penalty's pretty steep. I thought maybe subletting. His lease shows it's fine. But that means finding an agent to work with-

"Wait a second," my mom interrupts. "B.B., didn't you mention yours is running out next month?"

Our parents up until this moment have been catching up with each other, but now they're all including me and Mal. But with his fingers tangled under my dress still, and my foot rubbing along his calf, I'm just not prepared to have any kind of rational thought, much less needing to voice one.

"Sorry," I ask, sounding choked.

"Your apartment," my dad says, explaining slowly now, as he eyes my wineglass. Ha. I've only had maybe three sips. I'm drunk on something, but it's not alcohol. "You were thinking of not renewing."

Mr. Parker starts looking hopeful. "That's promising. Lu's place is a lot bigger. And it's rent controlled."

That aspect of it has my dad's face clearing with hope. Not as if he's paying my rent anyway, but the prospect of anyone saving money makes him happy, I know. And oh, God. What're these people planning right now? I can't keep up. It's bad timing. Mal hasn't once stopped tickling my thighs.

"Why, that's perfect," cries Mrs. Parker. "With two bedrooms, Mal might even be able to rent a room from you, B.B. Mal, what do you think? Will your firm here have you make regular trips into town?"

Mal doesn't look at me, when he says, "Lots of them, sure."

"How much rent-controlled?" Dad presses.

"You'd be paying the equivalent of a studio, for a two bedroom," answers Mr. Parker.

There it is. Sold. Both my parents grin widely at me. It makes me wonder, paranoid. Why are they so gung ho that I get a bigger place? For some odd reason, now I'm sure they're planning to give my room back home away to Jamie. I'm petty, yes. But then, the longer I think of it, the more I realize taking over Lu's place isn't such a bad idea. My old room notwithstanding.

"His apartment's closer to my job," I concede.

Mal clears his throat again. "I might have to cut back on hours in Portland. The bulk of my workload could end up with the firm here. Technically, I might need to rent a room at some point."

We share a glance, this time nothing untoward happening under the table.

"I can rent out my condo back home," he says. "At least until their office gets established."

He'd never mentioned any of that. Why he does it now, with everyone around, seems suspect. Strange. As if he's using our families as buffer. Maybe he's afraid I'll spazz out again.

Not likely though, not anymore. I've been dreading the thought of seeing him off at the airport, and waiting months for his next visit here. But a few weeks' wait at a time? That's doable. I won't feel like I've lost a limb.

"But I'm pretty picky about the people I room with," I tell him primly.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins. "How's that?"

"Only feminists who don't mind if things get hairy on the personal front."

"I'm open-minded." His hand resumes its torture on my skin. "Think I can handle both requirements."

Grams returns to the table at that point, shooting me and Mal both a look, brow raised, and I've never in my life kicked anyone as hard as I do Mal's shin just then. His hand falls away as he winces, tiny grunt of pain repressed at the back of his throat. I sit up ramrod straight, smiling nervously at my grandmother.

Whose suspicious eyes turn away, as Mrs. Parker claps her hands, thrilled with both me and Mal.

"Well, that settles it. No need for an agent. I might have even brought a copy of Lu's lease. In your backpack, dear," she adds, turning to Mr. Parker.

"We can worry about that later," he replies, starting to sense something awkward brewing. He's rarely off, when it comes to that.

Mrs. Parker ignores him. "You'll have plenty of room, the both of you," she leans in here, darting her glance between me and Mal. "Not as if you really need two separate bedrooms. One can be an office. Or a nursery."

Then leans back, nodding, winking far too exaggerated at the both of us.

Obvious, and uncomfortable, and embarrassing, but it's Mrs. P. and I feel a rush of fondness for the woman, even as I bite back a smile, watching Mal's face flush. Poor guy. Poor everyone, now that I take a better look around. My parents are cringing as well. Mr. Parker's casting a look up at the ceiling.

Grams pats her friend's hand. "Maddie, don't scare them off. They've waited a while to get to this point." She smiles at us composedly. "Let 'em breathe a little."

God, I love my grandmother.

"Is mom done plotting to get B.B. to move back home yet?" comes the slurred tones from behind us. Livvie's stumbling back towards the table, leaning on Jamie to make sure she stays upright. "Or we gonna start picking out the china for them?"

"Nope," Mal replies glibly. "Not china. Onesies. Bibs. Maybe a crib."

Livvie starts laughing like a hyena, while Lu snorts. "I'm offended, Mom. You didn't go this far when you thought _I_ was dating B.B."

Mrs. Parker sniffs. "Well, Lucas, being that you lied, you don't have a leg to stand on. Not to mention," she waves to me and Mal. "This makes more sense."

"If everyone could just put a lid on the speculation with my daughter's love life," my dad gripes, looking green around the gills. "I'd be grateful."

"Yes," my own mom agrees in a show of support, though she looks far less nauseated and a lot more content, as her gaze rests on my face. It's that thing she does, where she seems to read my mind. And right now if I got up to walk, I might have a sense of being on top of clouds. Just a little. "How about some more wine?"

Mr. Parker nods enthusiastically.

"Water for you," I cut in with a smile, offering to serve from the fresh pitcher Mr. Li himself just placed on the table.

Mr. Parker glowers, but lets me pour.

Livvie, meanwhile, downs her final glass, before tapping next to her, casting Jamie an indignant look.

"I'm out," Jamie says. "No more Kamikaze shots for you." Then he sends me a shrug that spells out-'hey, I tried to keep an eye on your friend but she's hopeless.'

"Actually, it could be worse," Lu reassures him. "She hasn't gotten to the part yet where she starts showing off how quickly she can pick her way out of handcuffs. We're good."

Jamie frowns doubtfully. "If you say so, man," but then angles slightly away from Livvie, and I can tell he's checking where she might have hidden her cuffs.

So, okay. I might get along pretty well with my stepbrother. At some point down the line.

Livvie shifts lazily in her seat, pointing to the screen on the wall with a hazy smile. "Not so wasted," she replies. "I can still count. Look."

The ball's dropped lower and everyone but Livvie's missed it. It's now two minutes to midnight. We get the waiter, the hostess, the cook, and Mr. Li himself join us at our table. Pots and pans and metal utensils in hand, at the ready. Along with a complimentary platter of mooncakes. Mmm. Yummy, round, and perfect. Everyone rushes to fill their glasses, as the clock winds down.

Mr. Li makes sure we've all got the dessert in hand, along with our drinks.

"Eat the cakes," he urges. "To sweeten the start of the next year."

Mrs. Parker smiles delightedly, embracing this superstition.

 _Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..._ counts the timer on the screen.

Mal hauls me by the waist, dragging me into his lap. Nobody blinks an eye.

"Go ahead and fight it," he murmurs, dismissing my outrage.

Naturally, I do. While we're struggling, the clock keeps ticking. "No PDA, remember?" I hiss.

"I'm not hearing objections from anyone but you."

True enough. Nothing from the peanut gallery, his parents smiling, though mine at least have definite raised brows that Mal ignores. Livvie's rolling her eyes with half-hearted disdain. Lu's just chuckling. Jamie's taking a page from Grams' book, pretending none of it's happening-me slapping Mal away, him firmly keeping me seated on him, and sloshing our drinks all over both of us.

In other words, a Parker and Bennett gathering, with everything pretty much the way it normally is. With the exception of Mal keeping me on his lap. The only change. Maybe a huge one.

Mr. Li's calm smile settles over me and Mal.

"This one," he tells his staff, pointing to me. "Loyal customer."

They nod in agreement, smiling brightly around the table.

"But always alone," the hostess replies helpfully.

Mal's grin turns large, shit-eating.

"Glad you brought your boyfriend now," Mr. Li says. "And your family."

 _Fourteen, thirteen, twelve..._

Mal's hand strokes my jaw. "C'mon, B.B. Let's ring it in properly. Mr. Li said we need sugar to start our year. So. Gimme some."

"Was that a pick-up line?" I mutter. "Terrible. No wonder you buried yourself in work."

"No," he says, bringing my hand up to kiss my knuckles. "That's not why."

"Ten, nine, eight, seven..." the entire table starts counting down.

But for me, it's all muffled, as I stare into Mal's face.

"Six years of hiding behind work," he murmurs, dropping his head towards mine, so our mouths hover near each other. "So I wouldn't think of you. That's why." His smile after that confession carries traces of something tortured. "Happy New Year, Bonnie."

Our lips meet just as the table erupts into cheery shouts, banging and clanging sending off sonic disruptions around the walls of the small restaurant, while my eyes close and beneath my lids, I see fireworks, exploring the taste of Mal on my mouth, and the feel of his arms wrapped around me.

Then we part and clink our glasses together, just before the others surround us, pulling us into their exuberance.

-x-O-x-

Later-much, much later, on my bed, I straddle him, my gyrations sweaty, slow, bordering on wild. The curtain's open, inviting moonlight over our slick bodies, while his fingers dig into my hips and mold my ass, rolling me against his length. I bounce down hard, crashing into him, taking him so deeply into me his grunts turn guttural, before I ease back and take just the tip of him, pulling us both away from the brink until he growls his frustration, burying his face against my breasts to nip roughly.

This is my payback, for him teasing me at the restaurant.

His prolonged groans fill the air. I arch up, grinding in rotation, drenching him where we're entwined, the new angle sharpening our mutual want to a keen edge that we're both ready to tip over. Moaning his name, my eyes shutter closed as I rock harder, losing all sense of myself now, just needing relief from this tight coil of heat building between us.

Soon he's undone, spasming into me with unsteady jerks of his hips. It's after he comes that I fall, finally, sweat from my breasts dripping onto his brow while I pulse around him.

"It was my turn to take you for a ride," I whisper moments later, cat-that-ate-the-canary smile in place as I gaze down, taming something smug rising from my belly at the total wonder in his eyes. "I can check that off my list."

His low chuckle rumbles through me, as we stay joined.

"Happy New Year, Mal."


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _ **Five months later...**_

The phone call comes in the middle of the night. I already know what to expect.

"Cerebral edema." It's nothing I've heard before, hints of tears barely restrained in my brother's voice. "Too much fluid in his brain. Doctor said he could wake up any time. Or never."

I hang up mere moments later, sitting on the side of the bed, my jaw working while my mind coolly runs through everything I have to do, before I get on a last-minute flight back to Portland. I have to get lost in the details-it's important, and a way to detach myself from the other thing.

The bed shifts, sheets rustling. Her scent carries, familiar and comforting, before B.B. leans in, resting her chin on my shoulder.

"That was Lu," I tell her, my own voice thick. "I have to go."

She squeezes my hand.

Several hours later, I've booked the red-eye flight online and bid B.B. good-bye while she's still half-asleep. It's the middle of a testing week for her students, otherwise I know she'd be coming home with me.

At the airport, after another call to Lu to let him know when my flight gets in so he can pick me up, I find my hands shaking, as I loiter by the departure area, trying to pour sugar into my cup of black coffee.

It doesn't ease up, not through the entire plane ride home, or once I get to the hospital and find my family there, huddled over my dad laying comatose in bed. No change, no updates beyond 'we're still monitoring' from the healthcare team. They're in and out, and my dad's got lines attached to him on all sides.

The first time B.B. calls me is during her lunch break. Hearing her ask about my dad, calmly, to the point, without any of the histrionics in her tone that I keep hearing from a few other members of my family...well, her voice is a lifeline right now, putting a smile on my face.

"Remember how you griped we didn't miss you enough?"

She gives a small scoff of mock outrage. "Liar. I never did."

"Nobody ever got on the phone to tell you they couldn't make it through the day without hearing your voice? Consider this it." I press the phone closer, wishing it was her instead, against my face. "God, it's good to hear you, Bonnie."

She gets it. Doesn't ask questions, just lets me ramble on about other, stupid things, when I try to avoid talking about my dad. Then she calls me again a few hours later, reminding me to eat.

I don't leave the hospital until near midnight, with my duffel still slung over my shoulder.

Trudging down the sidewalk, I'm fighting it, that heavy invisible hand pressing down on my shoulders and back. Over the years, the weight of it has turned a little unbearable, ever since that first day my parents shared dad's secret with me.

"Hey," comes a voice, soft and- _is it real?_ I wonder, confused when I see a petite form huddled on the steps that lead to my home.

B.B. stands, adjusting a backpack over her own shoulder. Her carry-on. Bags under her eyes answering the ones I'm carrying beneath my own. We must look a sight.

"You came," I say, dazed.

"You didn't seriously think you'd do this on your own."

Her green gaze is warm, offering the kind of comfort I don't realize, until that moment, I need. So fucking bad. Easing the gnawing in my chest. When she reaches up to cup my jaw, stroking my beard-distantly, I feel it splinter. The dam inside me. That's been up for years, ever since I found out the man who taught me pretty much everything I know was wasting before my eyes, soon to disappear.

"B.B..." my voice cracks, my eyes now stinging.

 _Don't break fuck it not here._

But I do, right in the middle of the sidewalk, and B.B.'s there, hauling me into her arms, whispering inside my ear while I hold onto her like a man drowning. Then I drag her inside. None of the renters are in. We tumble into the room reserved for my return trips, exhausted and tangled in each other's arms, still fully clothed but too tired and content to do anything but sleep.

-x-O-x-

On the third day holding, they tell us he's stable. Swelling's gone down, brain scan shows normal activity again.

A day later, Mr. Parker opens his eyes, slow and slightly crusty. Lu's there right beside him, and about six other Parkers, and a nurse and a CNA, all hovering over his bed. He coughs weakly, then there's the familiar glower on his face when he takes in everyone almost on top of him.

"Christ," he mumbles. "Can't even tell..."

Everyone leans closer to listen more intently.

"...if that bad breath I'm smelling...is my own or all of you people."

Seated on the ledge of the window, Mal and I share a grin with my Grams, who sits on a side chair.

Disgusted, Livvie jostles her father's arm, but only a little, because the nurse and the CNA both glare with the combined might of God. Livvie flushes under the non-verbal reproach, retreats to a far corner of the room.

"You're a jerk, Dad," she grumbles back. "Thanks for scaring the shit out of us for no reason."

His laugh is weak. "I try."

Mrs. Parker, of course, starts sobbing. As do Shelly, and Joss. Even Lu's teary-eyed.

Beside me, Mal rolls his eyes as he stands, pushing everyone out of the way. "Listen to the guy and give him some space. At least until you've all had a couple mints."

Mr. Parker laughs a little harder. "It's...good to see you, son."

When Mal bends down to offer a simple pat on his dad's shoulder-as stoic and nonchalant as it could get between two men hell bent on keeping the word from seeing their inner mushy-that's when I get weepy. But keep it to myself, for the most part. Until Mr. Parker beckons for me to come up. And I start ugly-crying. No reservations. Mal, on standby, offers me tissues while he rubs my back.

Now, being here around everyone, I'm glad things are already in motion back in New York. Mal has no idea yet because I honestly haven't had a chance to bring it up, but a few weeks ago, I sent resumes out for openings in the school district here for the next school year. Already, there are a few emails and callbacks. And my principal's happy to give references, since I explained about wanting to move out to Portland to spend more time with ailing family.

For nearly six months now, Mal's spent the majority of his time out in New York, only flying back to Portland every few weeks. It's my turn to balance the scales out.

Time for both of us to come home.

Twenty minutes later, a few of the Parkers start getting ready to leave. But Mal closes the door while they collect their stuff, and then stands clearing his throat over and over, looking just a little pale.

Maybe he's picked something up?

"Before you all go," he starts. "There's something..."

Everyone looks at him with tired faces. Including me.

"Spit it out, boy," grumbled Mr. Parker. "Who knows if someone's gonna bust in here and try to stick something else in yet another hole I never even knew I had."

"Ha," Mal says, shaking his head ruefully. "That's great. Thanks, Dad. Not the right ambience for what I'm trying to do."

Then he approaches me, throwing an exasperated look at the bodies in his way.

"B.B..."

Now he looks a little green around the edges. I can't help it; worried, my hand finds his forehead.

"What're you doing?" he mumbles.

"Checking for fever? You look sick."

"I'm not."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Christ, B.B...I'm trying-" Throwing up his hands, he glares at me. Then drops to one knee before me, reaching into his pocket. "Look, I-imagined this going differently. Less machine beeping, more candles."

"What's happening?" I sound faint, while I look around trying to form the dots. But no, I don't need an answer really. I get it. This looks familiar, not from personal experience but movies and television. The small velvet box in his fumbling hands cements the idea. My breathing turns more shallow.

Mal-Mal's on his knees, with a box, in front of me. Looking nervous as hell. I would be, too. His whole family's watching and I'm not saying anything-why can't I say anything so he feels better? I don't want to torture him-except _do_ I? Is it normal, for a woman to leave the guy hanging? I don't want to. Geeze, we're in a hospital where things are life and death-y and the point is not to waste time. Which I won't. I know my answer. It's a hell yes.

Only-he hasn't asked yet. I'm jumping ahead. He could change his mind in the span of the next couple seconds. My stomach is doing massively uncomfortable things. I could vomit all over him. Dealbreaker, that.

He opens the box, offering up a diamond. I give it a cursory glance, which is probably not the right reaction. But I don't know this stuff. Slim band with a big damn rock in the middle that's pretty and sparkly.

Behind all that is Mal's face, still looking tense. "I didn't get to practice a speech. But everyone's here-like always-and I think they saw this coming. Am I right?" He turns to the others.

There's a collective supportive nod-shrug around the room, except for Livvie.

"You stopped seriously dating once she hit college," she supplies to her brother, for once not rolling her eyes or snorting. Nope. This is Livvie being helpful. "Lame but true."

Mal nods and raises his brows at me while gesturing to Livvie like her testimony is needed to convince me. Are we in court? Am I the one-woman jury?

And _still_ , he hasn't asked. What do I say?

"How 'bout try actually popping the question, genius?" comes Garrett's exasperated voice.

"Right," Mal mumbles, clearing his throat. He reaches for my hand, pulling the ring out of the box and slipping it on my left ring finger.

On my hand, it fits snug, the center stone cushioned in smaller diamonds. Caro would like it, comes my dim thought. Me? I mostly care about the guy behind it.

I look at Mal, biting my lip to repress the joyful grin that's threatening to break my face in half.

Joss moves nearer, waving her hand with a hesitant smile. "Hi, you two," she says.

We're both too busy burning happy holes at each other's heads.

"B.B., putting on that ring means you're agreeing to marry my brother who strangely despite years of yapping personally and professionally, doesn't seem capable of forming the right words to propose to the woman he loves. We're all gonna take this as a _yes_. There...we good to go?"

I nod, incapable myself of forming the right words to say yes to the man I love. Mal shoots up from his knees, grabbing my waist to kiss me fervently while encasing me into a bear hug. Mrs. Parker starts crying again, Shelly following, Mr. Parker griping for both of them to be quiet. I catch Grams smiling calmly back at me with a knowing little glint in her eye. As if none of this surprises her. The other Parkers laugh at me and Mal, when he swings me around, my feet twirling in the air as we spin.

And because it's us, my feet crash into the bedside table, that rolls off to collide with the wall. There's a heavy device on top that topples over, landing squarely against a white panel with a bright blue 'CODE' button square in the middle.

Setting off blaring alarms, and a team of scrubs bulldozing their way into the already packed room. The nurses and doctors rush to Mr. Parker, ready to launch into rescue mode, while he shrinks away from them, hands up, yelping.

"Whoops," Mal says. "False alarm."

The tall doctor sporting wire-rim glasses, tousled hair, and bleary eyes glares up at us.

"I, uh, accidentally hit the button," I confess. "Sorry."

The entire code team heaves a shared sigh, before glancing around the room with a skeptical eye. "Looks like we missed a party," says one nurse, still checking Mr. Parker, the equipment, and the area with a quick practiced eye.

"Nope," Lu replies. "Just an engagement."

They give us polite 'who cares' smiles.

"How nice," says the doctor with the glasses, as they all truck out. Just before reaching the door, he turns to the nurse at his side. ''Who's working on the discharge orders for this patient?"

One of the nurses raises his hand.

"Might want to make that STAT."

"Yep. On it."

-x-O-x-

 _ **Seven months later...**_

Halfway through the reception, a hand pulls me away from the crowd. Mal's got _that_ look in his eyes. He's had enough of everyone. We need to be alone. I'm right there with him, cheering on whatever plans he's got.

Everyone tosses rice over our heads, laughing at our haste as we rush to the car carrying the sign 'Just Married.'

The rest of the way back home is a blur.

Mal swings me up into his arms, jaw tight but his eyes gleaming bright as he carries me up the porch, into the house. We've been there a few months now, in his childhood home. It had sat empty for years, gathering dust until Mal moved us in and started working on repairs. Today it feels official. This is _home_.

Mine and my _husband's_.

"Sorry in advance."

My hands wrap around his neck, when I tilt a brow up in question.

"In case I rip your dress," comes his husky whisper, as he leans down to kiss me.

I love my dress-miles of creamy lace, long, snug, and flaring out in a mermaid tale at the bottom. But somehow it doesn't bother me, when we collide against the wall, and he's shoving the top of it down while I help tug the bottom part up over my hips, in between ripping off his shirt buttons. Then he's snagged my panties off, I've pushed his pants down, and my legs are wrapped around his waist tight, our hips crashing together in desperation as we groan in mutual relief that he's filling me again, finally.

"Think other couples make it to the bed in time?" I gasp later, when our sweaty heads rest together.

He laughs, fingers squeezing my hips as he nuzzles my neck. "Be glad we made it out of the car, wifey."

-x-O-x-

 _ **The hospital, two years later...**_

"Doing great, sweetie," the nurse says.

The doctor eyes the area between my thighs doubtfully. Not the greatest reaction, at this particular moment, in this specific setting. As intense a feeling I'm getting, that something's trying to pop out, absolutely insistent on it in the worst way possible for every pore of my groin, I can't help imagining what's setting off that look on the doctor's face.

"Let's take a breather before you try pushing again."

I groan. "Can't...it's pushing itself."

"Just deep-breathe for a few seconds."

Mal rubs a cool cloth over my forehead, but I glare at him.

"Hate me right now?" he asks, kissing my temple.

Instead of answering, I reach for his hand, my grip hard enough to make him wince as I crash his finger bones together. But he tries to mask it behind a strained smile, while I continue squeezing the bones of his hand and feed him just an iota of the pain I'm weathing. Labor and delivery has coaxed out my inner petty bitch.

"Okay, Mrs. Parker."

My glare turns murderous.

"Mrs. Bennett-Parker," Mal says promptly to the nurse.

"Push again, sweetie. You're crowning!"

"Ah garggghhhhhhhhhhhhyou'regettingavasectomyMal!"

This time, the prolonged effort ends with crying. Strong, loud, angry. Poor thing. _I know, me too,_ I want to tell my new little baby.

"It's a girl!"

Then three minutes later-

"It's a boy!"

 _And that's a wrap,_ is my exhausted but happy thought.

Never _ever_ doing this again.

For several seconds, all I focus on are twenty itsy bitsy fingers and toes, fragile but fierce, punching out in the air. Already, they're fighters, trying to struggle against the cleaning, poking, and prodding by nurses and doctors.

Minutes later, one baby is in Mal's arms, the other in mine.

"Nice to meet you, Jacqueline Bennett Parker," murmurs Mal to his bundle, letting a tiny sleeved arm out from beneath the swaddle. Even smaller fingers grab hold of his pinkie.

He repeats the same greeting with the other one. "How's it going, Joshua?"

There's fleeting wistfulness in Mal's face, when he gazes down at our son. A mere four months ago, Mr. P. passed away, kidneys finally succumbing though he'd put up his best fight. We'd all been so sure he'd be around to meet his newest grandkids. My chest aches, remembering my gruff father-in-law trying to convince us there were far better names than his own to use.

I stroke Mal's cheek. He leans in, closes his eyes briefly, and when they re-open, the sad's passed by us. His dad wouldn't have wanted it, not for this moment.

"I have a theory," Mal says to the pair. "I saw a couple bassinets carrying little people like you two. But so far, you're the only ones who don't look like drowned rats."

I've got the shakes all over, not just in my trembling fingers, but it doesn't stop me reaching for my daughter. "Mal," I muster an eyeroll. "Not a theory. Don't let the other parents hear you say that."

"Mommy didn't let me finish," he continues addressing the pair. "You'll find out she does that a lot."

I'm too fatigued to throw my pillow at him.

"My theory is, you both are perfect," he presses closer, leaning to deposit Jacqueline securely in my shaking hold, then using his arms to keep them both snug between us, as he kisses me softly. The teasing light fades into another emotion, the rare kind that lights up his gray eyes enough to remind me of the sky on a winter morning, full of quiet promise. My throat tightens, while I revel in this first family moment. "Since your mom's kind of an angel."

-x-O-x-

 _ **Several years later...**_

Sometimes, I really hate family dinners. Enough that every once in a while, I contemplate the idea of lending our kids out to various relatives to raise. On a semi-regular basis. One week, my mother can get them; the next my wife's grandmother. And let's not forget the gang of aunts and uncles on my side of the family, a few of whom have quite of a bit of free time and energy to keep up with my twins. I imagine broaching the idea to my wife, solemnly, about how this approach to parenting would be preferable to, say, adoption. I can almost see those cool green eyes gazing back at me without a word, and depending on the day and how the kids are behaving-I can honestly see her maybe getting swayed by my arguments.

Last week, Jackie had gotten into her mother's bottle of coconut oil and decided to drink the stuff, rather than just dabble sparingly on her hair. B.B. hadn't been thrilled with her mini-me, especially after a conversation with poison control on the telephone that led to my wife and I both getting chewed out by a man who sounded far too much like Darth Vader.

I need to wait for another such night, to have the conversation with my wife about this novel idea of mine.

"Swallow your food."

"Aymmm dmdm mm fmn!"

A round face with large gray eyes stares back at me, cheeky smile breaking through. My daughter points to her cheeks puffed out, overly stuffed because eating dinner for her means shoving food in her mouth and chewing on each spoon for ten minutes, turning each mouthful into paste.

"That's not good table manners," says a serious voice on my other side. My son's plodding away at his plate, slow but steady. I push the glass of water nearer to him, figuring he must be thirsty by now, but he keeps pushing it away.

"No, thank you. I'll wait for my juice."

"Dem's the breaks, kiddo. No juice at night. I'm not giving you any."

"Mommy will."

"She made that rule up. Why would she break her own rules?"

"Mommy will."

He sounds pretty damn confident. Oh, B.B. She's been caving. There went all her arguments about presenting a unified front. The softie. "She won't be home for a few hours. Whaddaya have against water, anyway?"

Joey just gives me a careful look with his mossy eyes that are so like his mother's that I myself almost break, to get him his juice. But I don't. Because dammit, I'm the boss until B.B. gets back.

"It's weird," he finally says.

Gremlin. My son is a gremlin. No other explanation for it. It must stem from all the times I made B.B. watch the movies with me, from as far back as that first night I broke down her walls. Some part of the movie seeped into her pores, and years later when she got pregnant with the twins, it somehow affected my son.

Jackie, meanwhile, shoves another spoonful inside her mouth, giving me an eyeful of the paste that's growing in epic proportions between her cheeks.

I'm by myself, sandwiched between two little people, and this has been ongoing for roughly an hour-dinner, with both their plates not even close to being half done.

I made mac 'n cheese. I hate mac 'n cheese, but it's on the menu tonight for a quick meal. Kids finish early, shower, get to bed, and be down for the count by the time B.B. makes it home after class. There's wine chilling, and the dinner I made-not mac 'n cheese-consists of four courses. Plus, she's got a few episodes of her favorite shows on Netflix to binge on.

For lack of a sitter, this is as good as our date night gets. I need to make the most of it.

Just before nine, I've put the rugrats to bed and read their book five times.

I'm on the verge of tucking them in when Joey snaps upright in bed, head butting my nose. Barely taming the expletive from shooting out of my mouth, I rub my face, shaking my head clear from the collision. My son has an uncanny ability to inflict physical pain on me, a gene he inherited from his mother that she's never once refuted, once that talent became obvious.

"Are you okay, daddy?" he asks.

I manage a grunt.

"It was an accident." He stares up innocently. "I don't need to say sorry if it's not on purpose."

Dubiously, I watch him trot down the hall.

"Yes, you do!" I call back, just a beat too late. "Where are you going?"

"Mommy's here," he says, which of course spurs Jackie up and at 'em, careening past her brother with a loud whoop.

But it can't be. It's way too early. And yet...

Joey's got this internal antennae, one he's possessed since birth. It's not even a family secret. Everyone in the damn neighborhood knows. He can always tell when his mom's around. Even as a baby, when I was the one home with the kids and he'd be napping in his crib, I'd suddenly hear the monitor on his end and see the lights kick back up, once B.B. arrived. He'd just wake up, not crying or whining. Merely alert to the fact that his mom was there.

As much as Jackie takes after her, my daughter's got my eyes and my inner jerk. Meanwhile, Joey's sensitive but bubbly, animals and all the damn neighborhood kids love him, and I'm pretty sure he's the favorite grandkid. He's B.B. reborn through and through.

Figures, then, that he'd have a special connection to her, one that my mom and even Sheila calls a sixth sense.

A bundle of what could pass as the business end of a gray mop trots up the hall, panting excitedly. Cuddles, on hand to confirm that B.B. is home. Joey follows the puppy, a telltale smear of juice above his lip. Ah-ha. B.B. caved. Yeesh. He looks up at me, wide-eyed but probably internally debating if he should rub it in.

"That was quick," I mutter. "How'd you get her to give in that fast?"

I might need tips, especially since I hadn't gotten around to dismantling the tree and chucking it, despite it being on top of the honey-do list.

"Where's she at?" I ask my son.

He's still staring bug-eyed. "Outside in the back."

Aw, crap. Hopefully she's not thinking to do the tree herself at this time of night.

"Mommy got a new hairstyle," Jackie blurts, zinging past me on the way back to her room.

I don't get how...unless she squeezed it in between her classes despite the fact that a salon appointment takes hours. But she had a conference to boot. No, she wouldn't have had time. What am I missing?

The kids disappear into their rooms, and I head to the back porch, calling for my wife and doing some mental calculations that it's not that time of the month where she gets the whim to do random things because of hormones. It's my only explanation.

On the steps of the porch, I find her, sitting with her elbows up as she's leaning back and tilting a look up at the full moon sky. Without a word, I drop on to the step behind, cradling her between my legs and wrapping my arms around her shoulders. Oddly, instead of the usual way that gets her relaxed and boneless against me, she goes tense. A callback to those years when we tiptoed around each other. This...isn't a good sign. Either work was shitty or she's pissed about the tree.

"Look, it'll go out tomorrow," I say, my voice on its own dropping several decibels at the feel and scent of her. "I got caught up with the kids and the yard. Oh, and Cuddles left little brown surprises all over my shoes again. Permission to toss her out with the tree?"

"Okay."

Her consent is fast, dismissive. I doubt she even processed my actual comment. "Rough day?"

Nodding, she stays tense. The movement of her head's got her hat slipping off. It's new, not one I've seen before. Then I peer closer beneath it.

"Jackie mentioned a new look," I murmur, brushing strands of her hair back from her face. It does look shorter, a little less frizzy. She's gorgeous no matter what, but I've always liked the natural curls.

She swats my hand away, in that way she does, but now instead of rolling her eyes and biting back a smile at my attempt to touch her hair, she looks panicked.

"B.B..." I duck my head to level our eyes. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." But I see her shutting her eyes slowly, taking a breath to calm. Something's up. I'm starting to think it's nothing I've done. My fallback to get her to relax when she's mentally stewing on things she doesn't want to share is a massage. But no sooner do my fingers land on her skin than she jumps up, yelping and putting a good yard between us in one shot.

What the fuck?

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I-I'm just-I don't think-you shouldn't." Then she scrunches up her face. "Just don't touch me."

The last part of that comes out high, frayed, definitely borderline looney. What's going on with my wife, I have no real clue, except now I'm thinking less PMS and more...pharmacologic.

"Are you on drugs?" I demand. "Seriously, I can't even believe I have to ask, but that's all I got. _What_ is wrong with you?"

She waves a nervous hand, sending a weak smile to accompany it that in no way convinces me. "I'm just tired, Kai."

My brows reach for the skies. Really?

"Interesting," I tell her, raising a finger and chuckling softly to myself. "Who the _hell_ is _Kai_ , B.B?"

She blinks back, shrugging as if I'm the one who's grown two heads. "You. Duh. Mala _chai_. Makes sense."

"Not really, no. Since I'm _Mal._ "

"While we're on the subject," she says absently, letting me approach. "I'm not fond of the double consonant thing. Why not just Bonnie?"

I'm lost. But at least she's on a tangent that I can somewhat follow. "Sure, okay. You only like _me_ calling you that anyway, but if you're trying to tell me you're ready for its use outside of the times before or after you climax...I'm down for that."

"Oh, my God," she mutters, covering her face with a hand.

I'm inches from her. She's been home for at least ten minutes and I've yet to greet her properly, so I do so now. Bending my head down, I capture her mouth, swallowing her surprised gasp and then cupping her head to keep her close. Something citrus-y greets me, not the usual mintiness. Another change, small but jarring.

Her fingers rest against the nape of my neck while the rest of her starts easing against my chest. When we pull away, I hear her sigh, the one thing so far that sounds familiar and brings relief in my gut, although in some corner of my brain, something just isn't jiving.

B.B. smiles dazedly up, patting my chest while she hums in approval. "Good...that was-yeah. Wow."

"Someone's loopy today," I say, grinning down because this, at least, hasn't changed. Kissing her senseless. Before I swoop down for a repeat performance, she stays me with a finger against my mouth.

"Hold that thought," she whispers, slightly breathless. "I need a drink."

She's not kidding. At the kitchen counter, she fills us both our glasses quickly, turns to give me mine, then downs hers quickly, watching me eagerly as I work on my drink. The house is quiet, as I watch the alien creature that's taken over my wife's body. With hesitant steps, she nears, her serious, intent eyes cutting between my glass and my face.

"Can we try that again?" she whispers.

I know instantly what she means, and though the long day's catching up to me in how my hand wobbles a little when I put the drink down, I still manage to grab her close and accommodate.

"Since when do you have to ask?" I murmur.

This time, she opens her mouth to me, instigating a duel with our tongues that gets me hard in seconds. I groan when I pull away, fighting a wave of grogginess so I can reach the part where I'm making love to my wife because dammit, that's the plan for tonight. But I'm so damn tired.

When I pull back, her face looks as stunned as mine.

"Wow," she repeats.

I stumble against the counter.

"B.B...wha..?"

She's there, keeping me from falling. "Thanks again," she whispers. "But I've gotta go. You're not mine. Sweet dreams...Mal."

Vision hazy, I have no time to process her words before sleep claims me.

The next morning, the stray early light of dawn greets me along with a familiar warm softness in my arms. Strands of wavy hair tickle my face. When I tighten my arms to pull my wife in, my foggy brain registers the lack of skin of skin.

My eyes pop open, finding us both still fully clothed. I'm not in my boxers and shirt, she's not in her nightgown. Normally, this part of the day, I can feel her silky legs tangled in mine. Which they are now, but B.B. still has on the slacks she wore to work yesterday.

Equally hazy, my wife's green orbs stare back as we study each other. I'm remembering now, how weird she was last night.

"Are you okay?" we both ask, in the same exact moment.

Our brows both rise. "Me?" we ask, again in unison.

"Apparently, we both were too tired for stay-in date night," I say ruefully, looking at our clothes.

She shakes her head drowsily. "Mal," she says, sitting up and rubbing her head as if she's nursing a hangover.

"B.B." I'm feeling much the same, judging by the dull throbbing at the base of my skull. Maybe she spiked that drink she gave me, comes the idle thought that I know better than to verbalize. "Is it too early or too late to get undressed now?"

Her smacking my shoulder is a relief. Huge. All-encompassing. There's a lot of history and comfort it in, because she's done the same thing over and over for years. Ah, hello wife. There you are.

"I always knew you were odd," she grumbles. "But last night took the cake."

Is she serious? Then again, maybe this is her deflecting. If it's her time of the month, my best bet is to go with it. Although-I squint at her, tugging softly on her hair.

"Wasn't this shorter hours ago?"

"No." She peers at my jaw, touching my beard gingerly. "Didn't you have less of _this_ last night?"

"How'd you get me up to bed, anyway?"

"I was gonna ask the same of you."

That's it. I'm done. Clearly, we're both overworked and lacking sleep-how else to account for the mild amnesia that's hit us?

"Chalk it up to a full moon," I mumble, shooting my hand out. I wrap it around her and pull her back down, kissing her shoulder while bringing her back flush against me. "It's early. Let's get more shut-eye."

"Mm. Kay."

Us snuggling like this, with the hint of dawn breaking through the curtains, is just about my favorite part of the day. Yes, okay, and the way her ass cushions my morning wood factors into it a little. But outside of that, is just her and me and quiet. Before the kids wake up and break down the doors to come jump on our beds and the damn dog joins in to trample on our legs. Before the phone rings, or someone's at the door, or the litany of chores that face us.

"Love you," I whisper into her hair. Sleepily, she mumbles it back, her hand finding my arm around her waist.

Times like these, we're in our own tiny bubble of a world. Just me and B.B. I have to store these moments up, as short and far between as they are. If I could find a way to extend it, to have a whole damn month-or even just a week, all to ourselves...

I'd give up my spleen for that.

* * *

 **A/N:** And that's all folks. I squeezed in a teaser there, of another version of Bonkai, but which one? Hmm... ;)

Thanks for reading, guys!


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